Red vs Blue: After the Recon
by Stelladea
Summary: After the Director's capture and arrest, the boys are back at Blood Gulch getting ready for their bi-annual vacation from the war. I don't know about you, but "the boys" and "vacation" in the same context don't exactly sound like a safe combination...
1. Prologue

(Author's note: Welcome to _Red vs. Blue: After the Recon_. For those of you who have read my first RvB fanfiction, _Red vs. Blue: Reconnaissance_, welcome back! This story is intended as a companion tale to _Reconnaissance_, but if you haven't read it, have no fear! I've written this fanfiction in a way to make sense standing alone. All right, enough of my ranting. Let the madness commence!)

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

I walked gingerly into the large office and encountered a tall figure dressed in iron-gray armor. His back was to me, his hands clasped neatly behind him. He stood facing the one large computer screen now flicking through files of other Agents.

"Ah, Agent 11," he said without turning around. "Please take a seat. We have much to discuss."

I sat in the chair opposite the desk belonging to the man in front of me. The golden name plaque shining on the desk read _James Hale, Chief of Directorate of Intelligence_.

I watched as my superior flashed a file on the screen—my file. The large computer displayed all my work—my pre-CIA training, standardized test scores, job assignments, and, most importantly, my major accomplishments. Hale scanned through it and turned to me, sitting upright at his desk.

"Eleven, I commend you on your superior work," he began. "With the information you brought us from Blood Gulch, we were—as you know—able to arrest the Director for all his illegal offenses conducted in the work of the Freelancer Project."

I nodded. It had been my job to obtain the necessary information we required to write up the warrant to arrest the Director. It had been a long and tedious job, but I had done it.

"You have already received your promotion and raise in salary for your work—I believe you are now Chief of Intraglobal Reconnaissance and Affairs, is that so?"

I opened my mouth to agree to the statement, but he whipped his head around and peered at my file instead. "Yes, that's right," he said, cutting me off. "Now, you must understand something. As a member of the CIA—and a member with the responsibility of monitoring the war as it goes on in other planets—you also have the responsibility to follow up with your investigations.

"As you know, there is to be a vacation coming up soon for many of the outposts during the war. Blood Gulch is one of them. I expect you to go back during this break and follow up with those with whom you made contact before."

"Yes, sir," I replied. My heart sank some; I had been planning to take my own vacation then, but it looked as though that just wasn't happening. "What are my specific orders for this… 'post-recon' mission?"

"Your task will be simple. You must go back and interact with the soldiers you met—make sure that they are suffering no serious emotional, physical, or especially mental insufficiencies."

I held back a chuckle. Mental insufficiencies? I didn't even need to go back to Blood Gulch to report on those.

"Very well, sir."


	2. Back at Blood Gulch

Blood Gulch was exactly the way I remembered it. Grassy, the wind waving peacefully through the rocky plain. I inhaled deeply and smiled. It was going to be interesting seeing everyone once more.

I hadn't taken three steps away from the portal when I heard a shriek from behind me.

"ELEVEN!" I was attacked from behind by a flying pink streak, and the next thing I knew I was on the ground being squeezed to death by a lightish-red soldier.

"Donut!" I gasped. I thought my ribs might rack under the pressure of his embrace, but I laughed breathily and hugged him back. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"It's been forever!" he exclaimed as we both stood up and brushed ourselves off.

"I know," I agreed. "I half thought you wouldn't recognize me."

"Aw, come on, how could I forget that flaunting shade of robin's-egg-blue?"

I rolled my eyes. "Listen, just because you hate blue doesn't mean everyone has to."

"Whatever. I have a better sense of style anyway. You wanna come and see everyone else?"

"Sure. I kind of have to, actually…"

Donut's face fell. "Aw, seriously? This is another stupid CIA mission?"

"Well… sort of," I said as we headed to the Red base. "I'm supposed to stay here at Blood Gulch during your vacation to check up on you guys. Make sure that the whole O'Malley fiasco didn't make you guys go insane with the stress or something."

The pink soldier's face lit up again. "Oh, that's all? Well, in that case, we're going to have so much fun! We've gotta have a sleepover—and I have a new strawberry shortcake recipe I need to show you!"

Donut continued to chat as we reached the Red base, and after saying a quick "hola" to Lopez, the Reds' robot, we headed inside.

"Guys!" called Donut excitedly when we walked through the entrance. "Guess who's back?"

"Donut," an irritated voice came from one of the hallways. "We are not interested in re-meeting your imaginary unicorn!"

"Donut," I whispered anxiously, recognizing the voice. "You don't have to—"

"It's Eleven!" Donut yelled, paying me no notice.

"Eleven?"

I winced as footsteps came crashing up the hallway and a maroon soldier stumbled into view.

"El—Eleven," Simmons stuttered, straightening up and brushing himself off nervously. "You're back! That's—that's great. I miss—I mean, Donut missed you!"

I smiled uncomfortably as Simmons walked toward me, but was saved from having any physical contact with him by an orange leg's sticking out from a side doorway. Simmons had eyes for nothing but the entrance where Donut and I stood and so went flying as he tripped over the orange leg.

I felt mildly bad for the guy as he lay sprawled on the ground, his helmet now off and rolling down the other side of the room. The orange soldier stepped into view, standing above Simmons and roaring with laughter.

"Did you really think I'd miss that opportunity, Simmons? You just couldn't take your eyes off of Eleven, could you?"

I rolled my eyes. "Hey, Grif," I said, shaking his hand as he stepped over an outraged Simmons. "How's it going?"

Simmons looked up, his face the same shade as his armor. "I'm telling Sarge," he muttered, glowering.

"Telling Sarge what?" asked a bright red figure in the doorway.

"Sarge!" cried Simmons, scrambling up and putting his helmet back on. "Grif just tripped me because Eleven—"

"Eleven!" Sarge boomed, striding past Simmons and clasping an arm on my shoulder. "I was wonderin' when you'd be back around these parts. Fine soldier such as yourself, I knew you'd want to come back and observe our superior battle skills."

I chuckled. "Nice to see you too, Sarge," I replied. "How is the war going?"

Sarge sped off in a heated rant about how the war with "those dirty Blues" was going. The battles were disorganized, dysfunctional, and generally chaotic—so I knew everything was normal.

After a while of chit-chat with the Reds, I decided it was high time to go and check up on the Blues. After all, I didn't know how much longer it would take for Simmons to get over his embarrassment and try to show me his computers or something. Whatever his idea of flirting was.

After promising Donut I would come back as soon as I could, I set off for the Blue base in much the same fashion I had done so before.

When I reached the base, it was completely empty outside. I decided that since I had lived in the Base for a while, it wouldn't be rude just to walk in uninvited… right?

I found the Blues in the living area playing video games.

"Dammit!" cried the powder-blue soldier, sprawled out on a beanbag and punching his controller in rage. "Why won't this piece of shit work?"

"Hahaha! Die, die!" laughed his aqua opponent, perched on the edge of the couch and gazing raptly at the television screen. "Suck it, Church!"

"Tucker…" a royal blue Private mumbled from another area of the couch. He sat with his legs crossed and his hands halfway covering his face, as if he wanted to look away but couldn't bring himself to. "This is a scary movie!"

They paid Caboose no attention and continued to curse at each other as they played some battle game—as if they didn't get enough interaction with war already.

I watched a moment, smirking slightly, completely unnoticed. Typical.

Creeping over to where Tucker sat, I stood directly behind him and leaned casually on the back of the couch. I observed their battle game for a moment.

"You should head to that checkpoint down the tunnel," I suggested. "You can shoot that guy in the tower from there."

"Thanks…" the aqua Private murmured distractedly. The blasts continued emanating from the game for a moment, but then Tucker's head shot straight up into the air and he yelped, causing Church to curse and drop his controller.

"Holy shit!" he gasped, spinning around to see me. "Ells! You're back!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Really? After all this time, you're still using that stupid nickname?"

"Eleven!" Caboose practically bounced out of the couch. "It is good to see you! I wanted you to visit and now here you are! Sheila was right about the magical wishing pebbles!"

"Caboose," said Church in that familiar irritated tone. "Those 'magic pebbles' were pieces of alien turd. I told you not to listen to what she was telling you!"

Caboose didn't seem to hear him. "I wished on the pebble that you would come back and you came back so now we must have a party!" With that, he bounded into the kitchen singing about the cookie dough in the freezer.

Church groaned and pressed a finger to his temple. I walked over to him, smirking slightly. "Oh, Church, don't worry about it," I said. "It's no big deal. As long as he's not, say, _eating_ the things, I think we're all good."

Church looked up uneasily. "Um, actually—"

"Okay, _anyway_," Tucker interrupted pointedly. "Ells, what's going on with you? I mean, we haven't seen you in months, and then you turn up out of the blue with no notice."

"Well, I'm actually on a mission right now," I replied. The two Blues frowned, and I quickly continued. "It's nothing close to what we did last time, don't worry. It's more of a follow-up mission. I'm actually supposed to stay here during your break and monitor you guys to make sure you didn't go nuts after the craziness we witnessed with O'Malley." I snorted. "As if you weren't psycho already…"

Church chuckled darkly. "Yeah, we're perfectly sane here. We're only dealing with an incompetent, alien-crap-eating soldier in love with a talking tank… who, for that matter, is perfectly content with having an affair with the enemy's robot and tricking him into wishing on the magical brown pebbles…."

"Not to mention you've got one soldier who never shuts up and a leader with a terrible temper," I added with a smile. "Yeah… everything's pretty normal, I'd say."

I could have gone back to Command at that moment. I knew everything was fine… or as close to fine as things ever got at Blood Gulch. However, I knew Mr. Hale wouldn't be happy with me if I disobeyed his orders and came back before the vacation ended… so I figured I would just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride. Nothing too crazy would happen. I was sure of it.

* * *

(Just for your general information, as this story won't have an actual plot (it'll be a series of events or episodes), I'm open to suggestions for what goes on at Blood Gulch. If you have an idea, send me a message, and we'll talk!)


	3. The Bar, Part I

"What do you say we use our first night of freedom in the wisest way possible?" asked Grif.

I was over at the Red Base visiting for a while—Tucker and Church had gotten into a fight over the videogames, and I wanted no part of it. Instead, I had decided to help Donut make some cherry pies, which turned out wonderfully, if I do say so myself. Of course, I didn't exactly help—anytime I stepped near kitchenware disaster almost always occurred—so I let Donut do most of the actual baking. My task, ever important, was to read the directions out loud to him. We were finished with the desserts and cleaning the kitchen.

"What do you mean?" asked Donut.

"I mean, let's sneak out of the base!"

"Are you insane?" Simmons walked into the room. "If Sarge found out—"

"He doesn't have to know!" Grif interrupted excitedly. "Come on, it won't be so bad. We just need to make sure that Sarge is kept busy and we'll sneak out the portal in the back."

I arched an eyebrow. "Where exactly are we going?"

"The bar, of course!"

"_What?"_

Simmons sat down at the table and laughed heartily. "The portal isn't set to go to any bars! The nearest bar is on the next planet, for God's sake. I'm the only one who knows how to work those things anyway."

"Exactly!" Grif replied. "You can set it to go to a bar on another planet!"

"No way. I'm not gonna be the one to get all our asses kicked out of the army."

"Oh, come on, Simmons! Just because we're not allowed to leave the Base… and just because we're not allowed to have liquor while we're on duty… it's the holiday! Technically, wouldn't those rules be off?"

"Of course not! _Technically_, we'd be in deep shit if anyone found out."

Grif sighed loudly and turned around dejectedly, about to walk out of the room. As he passed me, however, he perked up.

"Eleven..." he said slowly. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

I had a very bad feeling about this, but though I mildly protested, Grif dragged me into the hallway to the bewilderment of the other two Reds.

"Listen," he said. "I haven't been wasted or laid in far too long, and this week might be the last chance any of us gets for months." He stopped, checking to make sure Simmons and Donut hadn't followed us out of the kitchen. "I know that Simmons likes you. Okay, scratch that. He's damn obsessed, and it's been drivin' me up the wall. But we can use this to our advantage."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, nonplussed. I didn't see how Simmons' feelings played out in this situation.

"Can't you—you know—_persuade_ him to fix the portal so we can go to a bar?"

I gasped. "I'm not going to sleep with him!"

"That's not what I'm talking about!" he said angrily, but then quieted his voice. "Just—just flirt with him, okay? Just sweet-talk him. If you say the right stuff, I know he'll bend to your will."

I sighed in resignation. "Fine. But on one condition: I don't have to sit by Simmons once we get there."

He groaned. "Deal."

We walked casually back into the kitchen and I began to help Donut with the dishes again. "So, did he convince you to help us persuade Simmons?" he whispered excitedly.

"How did you know that?" I asked, confused.

He smiled. "What else would he have done? Proposed?"

We giggled and returned to the dishes.

"Eleven, what were you two up to back there?" asked Simmons from the table loudly.

I smiled coyly at him. "Oh, nothing that you would be interested in."

Donut chuckled under his breath as I saw Simmons squirm uncomfortably. Grif stood at the doorway, observing the scene with satisfaction.

"I really think I would be interested, actually," he replied in a vain attempt at sounding casual.

"Why? It's not as though you wanted to help us anyway," I replied innocently, turning to face him. "I mean, Donut doesn't even have my side this time… so I guess it's just going to be Grif and me." I smiled warmly at Grif, who was having trouble containing his laughter.

I could almost see a green sheet of envy cloud Simmons' face. "You—you're going to run off to the bar with Grif?"

I sighed. "What's a girl to do? I don't have any other guys who'd want to come, so I guess Grif will be my only companion… for the whole night."

I had to turn away then as I heard Simmons gasp. Determinedly not looking into Donut's eyes (which were tearing up from laughter), I focused on keeping a straight face as I looked back over my shoulder at Simmons. He was sitting straight up, gazing raptly at me.

"I just don't know what I'll do if… things get out of hand," I added, emphasizing the effect with a girly sigh, giving him the most helpless look I could muster. Simmons was perched at the edge of his chair, and I noted I was getting quite good at this "damsel-in-distress" stuff. It was kind of freaking me out.

"Wh—what do you mean?" His voice cracked, and it was all I could do to stop myself from doubling over with laughter.

"Well, I just don't know if it's enough to have Grif by my side all evening. You see, I won't be wearing any of my armor, of course. So what if I'm attacked? I mean, Grif is very strong and everything," I said, smiling admiringly at Grif again. "But I just don't know if he could take on twenty other guys. It seems like a lot to ask of one brave soldier…." I sighed dramatically again. "I just wish there were some way to find someone else willing to protect me from harm…."

I blanched inwardly. If I heard any other girl say this I would have instantly thought of some beauty pageant airhead… but I was determined to succeed. I had gone this far—why stop now? So, as the grand finale, I reached up and took off my helmet, so my long hair flew up and waved in the air. I heard a snort of laughter in the background, but kept a straight face.

I looked up at Simmons, batting my eyelashes and swishing my hair around my face. I could have sworn I had heard his breathing become ragged behind his helmet, but I was determined to pull this off, so I didn't smile.

"I'm so sorry you won't come, Richard." I turned to the orange soldier laughing silently in the doorway. "Grif, let's go. I need to go and change into something more… comfortable." I pronounced the last word slowly, emphatically, and I definitely heard a moan escape Simmons' lips.

Grif and I left the room without another word, leaving Simmons in a state of shock and hurrying so that we could conceal our sniggers. Donut even slipped out of the kitchen unnoticed and met with us outside the Base.

Once outside, we roared with laughter.

"That… was… amazing," gasped Grif in between heaves of laughter.

Donut, writhing on the ground, giggling, could barely utter his assent. "Such—such a wonderful actress!"

"But what if he's not coming?" I asked, still chortling. "He hasn't followed us outside yet."

"Oh, he'll come. I'm surprised he isn't already begging you to let him tag along," smirked Grif. I continued to laugh with them, but we stopped abruptly as we heard footsteps coming to the entrance of the Base.

"Eleven!" called Simmons frantically. "I'm so glad you didn't leave already! Listen, Grif can't protect you worth squat, so I have no choice but to accompany you. I'm coming too!"

I stifled another chuckle and gazed at Simmons with a look of what I hoped was relief and awe. "That would be _so_ helpful!" I replied, suddenly struck by another idea. I certainly had no clue how to work the portal, and I figured that I might as well milk this for all it was worth…

"But," I added, faking a distressed gasp. "It's already so late! I was thinking of going and changing out of all this armor, but I just don't know. That would waste so much time, and I still need to set up the portal too! Maybe I'll just go to the bar in my armor—"

"No!" cut off Simmons a little too passionately. "I mean, uh, no, really, you can go and change. I—I thought you said you were going to. You know. Change into something. Comfortable." He cleared his throat. "I'll take care of the portal while you change," he said, puffing out his chest. "You can go ahead and take your time."

"Oh, Simmons," I gushed. "Thank you so much! You're so… uh… gallant."

With a charming smile, I turned and left toward the Blue Base, giggling silently as I went.

Who knew I could act as well as I could fight?


	4. The Bar, Part II

Back at the Blue Base, I had exhausted all my laughter and headed stealthily for my room. If the Blues found out I was going out with the Reds—to a bar, no less—I would never hear the end of it. I could already imagine waves of indignation rolling my way, and I just didn't want to deal with it.

Relieved that I had decided to pack some nice clothes in case I needed to attend some corporate banquet at Command, I slipped on a little blue dress and shiny black leather pumps. I fixed my hair for the first time in weeks, and felt like a real girl again.

Maybe this bar idea wasn't so bad after all.

Church, Tucker and Caboose were loudly playing games in the living room, so I slipped back to the entrance of the Blue base. There had been one point when I thought that they knew I was leaving—I stepped on one of Caboose's cookie jars lying in the middle of the floor, and the chatter from the other room stopped for a moment. However, to my relief, it continued, and I crept back to the Reds.

When I arrived back at the base, Simmons was still bent over the portal as I walked in and didn't notice me. Donut, however, heard the clicking of my high heels and bounded to the entrance. He had changed as well, wearing a light pink v-neck sweater and a matching scarf.

"Oh my God, Ells, you look amazing!" he squealed. "_Love _the shoes. I can't believe you brought them on this mission! They are perfect on you."

I laughed appreciatively. It had been such a long time since I could talk about clothes with anyone. "Speaking of perfect, just look at that scarf," I replied. I imagined Donut missed this event about as much as I did. "It matches so well with your sweater!"

"Ha, well, I'm pretty good at picking out my own colors," he said proudly, tugging at the scarf. "I've got a flair for this kind of thing."

"You back finally?" asked Grif, walking into view. He now wore a slightly-old-looking orange t-shirt and ripped jeans. "That took forever."

"Okay, guys, I'm done!" called Simmons enthusiastically, drowning out my comeback and walking back to the base. He now sported a maroon polo and khaki pants. "Now we just need to wait for—"

He saw me and stopped, stock-still. Although his lips continued to move, no sound came out and he swayed dangerously. Grif rolled his eyes.

"All right, let's go," he said, pulling Simmons out of the Base and nearly knocking him over.

"But what about Sarge?" piped in Donut as we walked toward the portal.

"Yeah, what about Sarge?" came a voice from behind us.

We whipped around and saw Sarge standing behind us, his arms crossed. He sported a bright red camouflage t-shirt, cargo pants, and military boots.

"Sir!" gasped Simmons, shocked out of his reverie. "I—we were just—uh—"

"Shut it, Simmons!" barked Sarge. "Eleven, what is going on here? You'd better be all dolled up for a reason, or I'm going to have to start a full-on interrogation."

"Sorry, Sarge, but we're taking a break." I decided on the truth. "Uh… we're going to a bar on a nearby planet."

Sarge gasped. "You dirtbags!" he yelled forcefully. "I can't believe you had the gall to try and sneak out to a bar… without me!"

* * *

"Damn, Eleven, you should hit on Simmons more often," Grif whispered as we walked inside the bar. I elbowed him in the side, but had to admit that Simmons had gotten us to a nice bar. It was well-lit, clean, and by the looks of it, expensive. "If you make out with him, maybe he'll buy our drinks."

"Shut up!" I whispered, glaring at him and glancing anxiously at Simmons. "Don't give him any ideas."

We settled into a roomy booth with low-hanging lights, and I sat conspicuously at the edge of the booth next to Donut. Simmons sat across from me next to Sarge, looking torn between being disappointed at not sitting next to me and proud of sitting next to Sarge.

"So, ladies, what'll it be tonight?" asked Sarge. "And, Donut, if I hear anything close to peach martini, I'm gonna throw you from our booth myself."

"How about a round of beers?" suggested Grif. "We can start out simple."

"That actually sounds like a good idea, Grif," said Sarge, sounding surprised.

"I'll go get them, Sir," Simmons volunteered instantly. He left the table and Grif sniggered.

"On second thought, you don't even need to make out with him, Eleven. He's in love with Sarge enough as it is."

Simmons returned with the drinks and we all held up our coffee-colored bottles.

"To the Reds," grumbled Sarge.

"Cheers," I replied happily. I wasn't really one for beer, but what the hell. It was a holiday, after all. We drank and talked, and I was just about to go and get some peanuts when I spied a group that looked very blue sitting at a table not too far away.

"Shit!" I gasped, ducking into Donut. "It's the Blues!"

Simmons craned his head around the seat and jumped. "How the hell did they get here?"

"They must have hijacked the portal!" exclaimed Donut.

"You—you told them our plans?" asked Sarge, staring at me, dumbfounded.

"No! Of course I didn't!" I whispered frantically. "I don't know how this happ—"

"Look at Eleven!" called Caboose from the other table. "She is sitting with the Reds!"

"Damn it," I muttered, banging a hand on the table. "Sorry guys, but I think I need to sort this out."

I left the table without another word and stormed toward the Blues' table.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I growled, and Caboose shrank back. He was wearing a bright blue t-shirt and his hair was all messed up. "I thought you were playing videogames back at the Base!"

"Well, we were, until we heard you sneak out," replied Church, shrugging his shoulders in a pale blue sweater. "You think we were just gonna let that one go?"

"We saw you were all ho—uh, dressed up—and we changed and followed you guys through the portal. Doesn't take a genius to figure it out," Tucker explained. He wore a light aqua button-up shirt with a dark aqua t-shirt underneath. The sleeves were rolled up and all the buttons undone for an uncharacteristically nice look. "So… you gonna sit down already?"

"Too late. I have my drinks taken care of tonight," I said, smiling. "I'm sitting with the others. You guys can enjoy your chick-picking alone. Good night, boys." I shot another smile at them and returned to the Reds' table.

"They followed me to the Base," I said grimly as I sat back down next to Donut. "They used the portal right after they saw us take it."

"Diabolical," Sarge sighed. "Well, none of us can be perfect. Except for me, of course."

The night continued, and though I stayed quite sober, the Reds ordered four, five, six rounds of Scotch and drained them. Soon, Sarge was tearing up as he howled to Simmons about how good things were back in his day and Grif flirted drearily with Donut, who was thoroughly uninterested.

"Come on, baby, I don't have all night," he slurred, a lopsided smile on his face. "Girl," he hiccupped. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you didn't like me…"

"Help," moaned Donut.

"Come on," I muttered, standing up out of the booth. "Let's go sit next to the others."

"The others?" he asked, nonplussed.

"The Blues," I said, not looking at him. Normally, I wouldn't try to socialize the two teams with each other, but Donut was different. He and Caboose were friendly with each other, and I didn't think Tucker or Church thought he was any kind of real threat.

"Oh, good idea," replied Donut, not bothered at all. I looked back at him, surprised.

"You don't have a problem with it?"

"Not really."

"Are you drunk?"

"Actually, I have a surprisingly high tolerance to liquor. I could still drive if I wanted to, I bet."

I chuckled and headed over to the Blues. Without saying a word, I slid into the empty space next to Church, while Donut slipped in opposite me, next to Caboose.

"What are you doing?" asked Tucker, his eyes out of focus. "This rickhead's a Ded…"

"Yeah…" mumbled Church darkly. "I've got half a mind to blow his brains out with my pistol!" He picked up his spoon and aimed it at Donut. "I've got, like, fourteen rounds in here…" He continued to mutter incoherently and finger the utensil.

"Donut!" whispered Caboose excitedly. "I am so glad you are here. Tucker and Church have been drinking something that tastes _really_ bad. And now they are like this."

Donut put a hand on Caboose's shoulder. "Don't worry. They'll be all right in the morning. They probably won't even remember what happened. What have they been drinking?"

"Beer! But…" Caboose frowned, deep in thought. "I have beer too. And mine is very different from theirs. Mine is yummy!"

Caboose and beer? There was no way. I reached over and took a swig of Caboose's dark drink and smiled. "Root beer," I whispered to Donut. He smiled and rolled his eyes.

"It's okay, Caboose," I replied. "Your beer is way better than theirs anyway. Just… do me a favor, okay? Stick with what you have." I didn't even want to think about what disasters a drunk Caboose would bring. A Caboose on sugar was bad enough. "So, what have the others been up to?" I asked, gesturing at Church and Tucker. They were busy fighting over who would shoot Donut with the spoon.

"Ohh… I don't know…" he replied slowly. "Tucker was talking about a girl and Church was saying bad words. Like… like the 'F' word."

"Caboose…" I asked. Did he even know what the "F" word was? "Can you tell me exactly which 'F' word Church used?"

Caboose leaned toward me, his eyes wide with worry. "Please don't tell anyone I said it," he said anxiously into my ear. "It's a bad, bad word."

I nodded seriously and waited for him to speak. He cleared his throat and leaned in closely to my ear.

"Fart."


	5. The Bar, Part III

Donut and I gave each other a knowing smile and giggled a bit. I didn't think Caboose would be able to distinguish the true "F" word if it slapped him in the face, considering how much Church used it. For all I knew, Caboose thought all the curse words in the English language were part of the alphabet.

"It's okay, Caboose," Donut replied soothingly. "That 'F' word isn't so bad compared to what else could be said."

I opened my mouth to agree with Donut, but my reply was forced from my mouth as a squawk as I was yanked sideways. I toppled onto the floor and looked up to see Simmons, a butter knife between his teeth as he crawled on the floor next to me.

"What the…" I gasped.

"Shh!" hissed Simmons, looking up suspiciously at the oblivious Blues. Tucker and Church were having swordfights with their straws and hadn't noticed my sudden disappearance from the table, but Donut and Caboose looked over at me curiously. "Don't worry! I'm here to rescue you!"

My eyes widened. I tried to protest but Simmons' grip on my arm was like iron and he was dragging me across the floor to the Reds' table.

"Simmons, I—no, really, it's okay—"

"It's not okay!" replied a serious Simmons, the butter knife still in his mouth. "I know you can take care of yourself, Eleven, but I'm not going to let you be taken as a hostage!"

I cursed under my breath, trying to get away from Simmons, but for some reason, he seemed to be much stronger when drunk. I just rolled my eyes and decided to let him take me back to the Red table. There was no harm in just playing alo—

"Eleven!" cried a voice from the Blue table. Caboose had stood up and was now yelling at the top of his voice, shocking Church and Tucker out of their preoccupation. "Where are you going? Can I play hide-and-seek too?"

"ELEVEN!" Tucker gasped, seeing me and staggering out of the booth. "It's a kidnapping!" he stuttered, swaying once he stood on his feet. "Let's go save her!"

"Damn Reds!" agreed Church, taking a swig of whiskey and standing up as well. "Let's finish this once and for all!"

"Eleven," said Grif from behind me, his eyes unfocused. "Whatcha crawling on the ceiling for? I didn't know they decided to put the booths on the wall… will you please stop the room now? I'd like to get off…"

"Attack!" raged Sarge, who had seen the Blues' getting up to fight. He shoved Grif abruptly from the booth to help. "To the death, men!"

Before I could say another word, Grif, Sarge, Tucker and Church all stampeded toward each other, each team in a fit of drunk rage. I wondered if they even remembered what they were fighting about.

"I've got you," said Simmons soothingly, still dragging me out of the way. "The Blues won't try and steal you anymore…"

I rolled my eyes and shook him off. "Simmons, this is ridiculous. You're going to get us kicked out."

As soon as the words flew out my mouth, an aqua-clad soldier sped toward us, a fork stuck in his hair and a look of rage on his face.

"Get your hands off her!" Tucker snarled, swinging a punch at Simmons and striking about a foot to his left. "I'm not going to let you kidnap her!"

"You cockbite," growled Simmons, standing protectively in front of me. "I don't know how you got her, but she's not going to be your hostage anymore! I saved her!"

"More like stole her!" yelled Tucker. "Let her go! She doesn't deserve to be manhandled by a bunch of savage Reds!"

"Savage? I'll show you _savage!"_

The boys lunged at each other, kicking, slapping, punching. I couldn't believe it. Here we were, in the middle of a public area, and the Reds and Blues were fighting over an issue that, frankly, didn't even exist.

I smacked a palm to my forehead in exasperation as Simmons flung a handful of honey-roasted peanuts at Tucker, hitting him square in the nose with about two of them. The entire party (except for Donut and Caboose, who were playing tic-tac-toe on a napkin) continued the ridiculous bar fight, and my mind raced. What could I do to stop this utter nonsense? And why the hell was the bartender not doing anything about the obvious fight going on in the bar? I looked over and saw that he was busy flirting with some chick. Was there no sense in the world?

I growled darkly and sighed. Time for damage control.

I peered keenly around the room and spotted some loser in the corner sitting by himself. His booth was dark except for the glowing light coming from his PS3, and I could just see headphones stuck to his ears.

It hit me.

Tucker's button-up shirt was lying, forgotten and wrinkled, on the ground next to their fight, so I picked it up and stuffed it in my purse. I'd save it for later.

Sliding casually into the nerdy guy's booth, I sat down and smiled at him expectantly. He looked up at me, startled, and nervously took his headphones from his ears.

"Y—yes?" he stuttered. His face was pockmarked from acne scars, and I wondered if he had showered in the last ten years. His dark hair looked almost wet from the grease coating it, and I could almost taste the stench that left the stains of his underarms. To top it all off, a railroad track of braces lined his uneven teeth and he wore thick coke-bottle glasses.

Perfect.

"CIA," I said. I held out my ID for him to glance at and his face turned purple.

"I—I didn't do it!" he said frantically, his voice a high-pitched squeak. "I swear it was all Allen's fault. He made me hack it! I would have never looked at those pictures!"

I raised an eyebrow. This plan was just getting better and better.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm going to have to take you into custody for questioning," I replied seriously. "This is very grave business."

The poor guy looked about ready to puke, and I rather guiltily led him to the back hallway near the bathrooms.

"As is procedure," I said, stone-faced. "We require that all articles of the suspect be used as evidence either for or against him. As such, I will need you to remove all accessories from your person."

The guy relaxed somewhat. "Oh, well, all right… but why did we come back here to the bathrooms? I could have given you all this back at the booth."

I smiled evilly. "Oh, you're going to want to use the bathroom. In CIA language, 'accessories' means _everything_."


	6. The Bar, Part IV

_Thank goodness I have Tucker's shirt,_ I thought.

There was no way I was going to use the nerdy guy's sorry excuse for a shirt after I had seen the putrid yellow stains beneath his arms. Instead, I buttoned the aqua dress shirt and tightened the nerdy guy's pants over my hips. I decided to abandon his socks—who knows where they had been?—but donned everything else. His shoes were big on me, but there was no way I could wear heels with the guy's baggy pants. I slipped on his thick glasses, almost going blind from the heavy prescription. Luckily, the guy's greasy hair had actually also been a toupee, so I stole that as well and stuffed my hair into it, trying not to think about why a coat of oil had accumulated on it.

I looked in the mirror outside the bathroom and smiled. I didn't exactly look like a guy, but through beer goggles, it would most certainly do.

I left the nerdy guy in one of the bathroom stalls wearing nothing but his boxers and gross t-shirt. He'd live.

Back in the bar area, the Reds and Blues were still fighting noisily, and everyone else was still either watching them, mildly interested, or flirting with whomever was available.

I sighed and made my way to the DJ after dropping my shoes and purse off with Donut, gazing at him meaningfully. He took the accessories, confused, giving me the this-is-weird-but-considering-the-circumstances-I-trust-you look.

If this didn't work, I didn't know what would.

"Excuse me," I said loudly to the DJ. "Can I borrow your microphone, please?"

The DJ smiled but shook his head, indicating the loudness of the music. As if that would stop me.

I showed him my ID and the music screeched to a halt. "Microphone. Now." The DJ gaped at me strangely, unable to connect the voice with the appearance, but handed me the cordless microphone nonetheless. I took it back to where the Reds and Blues were fighting and climbed on top of one of the tables, silently thanking the nerdy guy that I wasn't wearing heels.

"Attention, everyone," I said into the microphone. Nothing happened, so I cleared my voice and spoke in what I hoped was an official-sounding, computer-nerd-ish rasp.

"Attention!"

The microphone squealed painfully and every person in the room cringed, turning toward me. The boys stopped in mid-fight, and I saw Church's knee dangerously close to quite a sensitive spot of Grif's.

"I have a very important announcement to make," I said quickly, now that I had their attention. "I am a representative from the gaming company Bingle. It is my pleasure to inform you that we now have a sneak preview of the next installment of our most famous game. Ralo Heach is coming out soon, but a lucky few of you will be able to play it right now."

An excited mutter ran around the room, and I hoped against hope that the Reds and Blues would be fast enough for the next sentence.

"The first… uh… seven of you to reach the doorway waiting outside will have special license to the new videogame this evening. So… run!"

I was halfway to the door when I said the last word, but nothing could have prepared me for what ensued.

A stampede of people ran to the door. Young, old, man, woman. I sprinted ahead of them toward the portal and jumped through, praying that the next seven who followed me would be the _right_ seven.

I landed roughly back in Blood Gulch in front of the Red Base. Jumping back up in front of the portal, I waited apprehensively for the "lucky seven." A maroon-polo-wearing figure toppled on the ground in front of me, followed closely by yellow, red, aqua, and powder blue companions.

"Where are Caboose and Donut?" I said frantically, peering inside the portal. I only had to look for about two seconds when they came flying through the portal, and I smacked the OFF button on the side of the device.

Panting heavily, I looked through the darkness at the figures piled on the grass, arguing loudly and talking about the videogame.

I counted heads to make sure everyone was present, but saw… an extra head. A bald one.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I gasped, grabbing the nerdy guy by the shoulder. "I thought you were in the bathroom!"

"Ralo Heach!" he gasped excitedly, still in his boxers and nasty shirt. "I've gotta try it—"

"No effin' way," I muttered. I grabbed him by the shirt and shoved him back in the portal—the OFF button let him go out, but not back in. "Oh, and take your stupid wig!"

I thrust the toupee back through the portal as well. Good riddance.

Turning back to the rest of the group, I let out a slow exhale. They were looking around Blood Gulch, their eyebrows knit. They must have been seriously drunk.

Donut and Caboose, however, came up to me perkily.

"Nice one, Ells," remarked Donut. "So you can act the temptress and the nerd. I'm truly impressed."

"Excuse me, Mr. Game Person, Sir," said Caboose shyly. "Please, can I please watch the new scary movie now please?"

I sighed and took off the thick glasses, shoes, and pants, rolling down my dress, which I had decided to wear underneath everything.

"It's me, Caboose," I said tiredly. "There's no game right now. I'll get it for you later, okay?"

The poor guy's face fell, but he smiled anyway. "That's okay. I'll just wish for one on a magic pebble…" he wandered away toward the Blue base and I trusted he'd get back without injuring himself.

"Just go to bed soon, okay?" I couldn't help but call after him.

"Here's your stuff, Ells," said Donut. He handed me my purse and my heels. "That was a good show… but I've gotta say, I think I like you more as a girl."

"Me too," I said, shuddering slightly at the thought of the nerdy guy's disgusting clothing. I looked back at the others, who were looking around in the grass for the new videogame. "We should probably get them home," I added, pointing in their general direction. Sarge was already snoring on the ground, and it looked as though the others were gradually burning out too.

"So… I guess I'll take care of mine and you'll get yours?" asked Donut, acquiescent.

"Guess so," I replied. I stepped toward Church and Tucker. They sat on the grass talking dazedly about how they'd beat each other's asses at Ralo Heach. "Hey, guys," I said casually to the boys. "They delivered your game to the Blue base. Want to go see it?"

The boys staggered to their feet, not even phased by the fact that I had transformed from a Bingle representative to myself in front of their eyes. They followed me back to the base in haphazard zigzags, tripping periodically.

We finally made it back to the Blue base, and I coerced the boys back into their rooms, assuring them they'd be able to play the game first thing in the morning. After making sure that they (and Caboose) had made it into their rooms safely, I headed to my own room, exhausted.

I hardly walked into my room before collapsing on the bed. What an exhausting night.


	7. Hanging Over

The next morning, the sun rudely woke me up as it streamed through the window right into my eyes. I groaned and yawned, stretching some, until the previous night's events flooded my memory.

"Aww… crap," I mumbled, getting out of bed. Today would not be fun.

In the kitchen, the boys were already awake. Church was crankily attempting to make some instant coffee, trying unsuccessfully to rip open a plastic pack of ground coffee beans. Tucker sat at the table, his head in his hands. Caboose, however, sat eating a large pile of sugary cereal, completely cheerful.

"Good morning," I yawned, plopping down at the table as well. "How are you guys?"

Church, busy with the coffee, didn't turn to me. "I've got one hell of a headache," he grumbled, tugging irritably at the vacuum-sealed pouch. "Last thing I remember was downing that mug of whiskey. Then it's all blurry."

"Same here," Tucker replied, dropping his head on the table. "I can't remember a damn thing."

_…And that's probably a good thing,_ I thought grimly.

"Yesterday was a fun party," commented Caboose, his mouth full of cereal. "I liked the contest. But I still don't know where our new movie is." He frowned, swallowing his multicolored breakfast. "Will it come in the mail?"

I tensed, glancing worriedly at Church and Tucker, but they paid Caboose no attention. Church ignored him, continuing to wrestle with the pack of instant coffee, and Tucker simply sighed, his head still on the table. Relaxing, I sat back in my chair. Thank goodness Caboose said odd things all the time. The others were used to his (usually) unintelligible garble.

Tucker looked up drearily, but upon seeing me, sat straight up in his chair and almost toppled over.

"Ells, what the—" he gasped. "Why are you wearing my _shirt?_"

I looked down at myself and jumped, remembering that I had gone to sleep without changing—which meant that I was still wearing my dress from the previous night along with Tucker's button-down shirt.

An explosive pop rang out from the other side of the room. Coffee grounds littered the floor, and Church gaped at me, the now empty pack of coffee still frozen in his hands.

My face flushed in embarrassment as I ripped off the shirt.

"Uh, here you go, Tucker," I said sheepishly, handing it to him.

"What the hell happened last night?" asked Tucker, half amazed, half panicked. He gazed at the shirt in his hands as if unable to believe I had been wearing it. "Something I should… know about?"

"Nothing," I replied quickly. "Honestly. You guys went to the bar, got drunk, and then I got you home. No big deal."

"So… how does that correspond with your taking my shirt?"

"Um, I definitely didn't take it. It was… taken off."

Tucker raised an eyebrow. "Taken off? By whom? You?"

"No. Uh… by Simmons."

I winced. This was just getting worse and worse.

The Blues looked at each other, their mouths hanging wide open. I would have laughed if I hadn't been so embarrassed.

"Eleven wasn't wearing her dress last night!" piped in Caboose. "She was all dressed up and then she—"

"Caboose. Shut. Up." I said through gritted teeth. The Blues looked about ready to pass out.

"Why the _hell_ was Simmons taking off my clothing? And why the _hell_ did you end up with it?"

"Would you relax?" I spat angrily. Enough was enough. "If you're so damn interested in what happened last night, here it is: you all started a freakin' bar fight! Tucker, you and Simmons started it—over something really stupid—and when you two were going at it, your shirt came off in the process. I had to dress like a Bingle representative to persuade you guys to get out of there, okay? That's why I wore your stupid shirt. It looked as lame as what a computer nerd would wear!"

I stormed out of the kitchen to my room, where I showered and changed irritably. Guys' minds were so deep in the gutter, it was a wonder I could even breathe through the toxic fumes.

Without mentioning a word to the Blues, I decided to leave. On my way out, I walked past the kitchen quietly. Church, a worried look on his face, was telling Caboose to help him clean up the coffee grounds; Tucker, meanwhile, still sat at the table, gazing at the shirt as if in a trance. Hoping they wouldn't hear me this time, I left and headed toward the Red base. I would choose a hung-over Simmons over any of the Blues at the moment.

"Hey, Ells," yawned Donut as I walked into the base. "How're you doing?"

"I'm a little pissed at the moment, but I'll be fine," I said, sighing and sliding into one of the kitchen table seats. Donut gave me a questioning glance, and I rolled my eyes. "I accidentally walked into the kitchen this morning wearing what I was last night—just my dress and Tucker's shirt. So Tucker freaked out."

Donut smiled. "Well, I guess you can't blame him. He does have a guy mind, after all."

"I just wish it were a little less prominent."

"Don't we all?" He headed to the fridge and took out a carton of eggs. "You want an omelette?"

"Ha, that would be great, Donut. Thanks."

As the eggs sizzled in the pan, a yawning Grif trudged into the kitchen.

"Can I have one too, Donut?" He saw me and smiled lopsidedly. "Hey, Eleven. Come to tell us what happened last night? 'Cause I definitely don't remember."

I gave Donut a meaningful look. "Hardly. I'm here to make sure you didn't die of alcohol poisoning."

"Ugh. I must have had a shitload to drink then. I feel terrible. And for some reason, I'm really freakin' sore. Like I was beat up or something last night."

I said nothing, looking down at the floor and pretending to be very interested in the pattern of tile. I wasn't going to be the one to tell Grif he now sported some nice purple bruises on his face.

"Hey, Eleven!" said Simmons, walking into the room. He was already dressed and actually looked semi-presentable. His hair was wet as well… had he showered? I sniffed and smelled Old Spice. What soldier, recovering from a major bout of drunkenness, would look that respectable at this time of the morning? "Come to thank me?"

My eyebrows knitted. "Thank you for what, exactly?"

He looked at me as if unable to believe I couldn't remember. "I totally saved you from the Blues last night. They kidnapped you from our table, and I rescued you."

…And all this time, I thought he'd been just as drunk as the rest of them.

* * *

I got tired of the Reds. I'd thought that they would be a break from the confusion over at Blue base, but they were simply... annoying. Grif started getting suspicious once he discovered his bruises, and Simmons kept trying to convince me that he'd been all chivalrous and manly and whatnot. When Sarge revealed a large bottle of vodka he'd managed to sneak out of the bar, it was the last straw. There was no way I could deal with that right now.

Even in the presence of an annoying group of Blues, I decided I'd just be able to ignore them and carry on with my day by myself. Back at the base, I found Tucker, Church, and Caboose watching the football game on TV. When I walked in, they saw me and stood up simultaneously.

"Eleven, we've decided you need something," said Church. "Come on."

They looked so grave, I didn't think it would be a good idea to ignore them, so I grudgingly followed them into the kitchen.

"We've decided that you had way too much to drink last night," Church explained seriously, handing me a mug. It contained a very thick, reddish-looking liquid. "This will probably get you out of your hangover. I mean, I know we had some to drink, but we would have remembered something as crazy as a bar fight. I think that if you're drunk enough to start having hallucinations and delusions and shit, you gotta let your friends take care of you. So drink up."

I stared. Church and Caboose smiled at me eagerly. "Are… are you serious? You think_ I_ was the one who had too much to drink?"

"Well, duh, if you thought that a freakin' fight happened last night. I mean, we would have remembered that."

I gaped at their expectant faces, but Tucker wouldn't look at me. He gazed at the ground instead, saying nothing.

"You are all insane," I said. "I wouldn't make that up. But if you really think I'm crazy, I'll drink this. Just for you." I paused, looking at the drink tentatively. "I hope you're happy."

I took a swig of what was in the mug and thought I'd died.

I spat it all out over Church's face, hacking, coughing, and falling to the ground. My insides were surely on fire.

"What—what the hell—what did you give me?" I gasped, almost licking the tile floor. At least it would be cool. I ran to the freezer and stuck my head inside, resting my tongue against an ice pack.

"What else is better for a hangover? Tabasco sauce."


	8. Miscommunication

"Hurry up!" I panted. "They're bound to attack at any moment!"

I hurtled through the portal at full speed and tumbled forcefully onto the ground about half a mile away. A figure, close behind, crashed into me and we fell into a snarled heap on the ground.

"Tucker," I growled, his sooty, now-dark armor muffling my voice. "Get… off!"

"Sorry, sorry!" he panted as we disentangled ourselves. "I didn't think you'd be right in front of the entrance!" He looked down at himself and groaned. "Look at my armor—not again!"

"Shh!" I hissed, peering cautiously around a nearby rock. "The Reds are over there, and it looks like they've gone nuts. I really don't know what's up with Sarge, but he looks pissed."

"He has to be, if he ran _you_ out of the camp," Tucker muttered back, trying to scrape the dark coating off his armor, but to no avail. It stayed as black as night with no sign of the teal underneath. "I mean, hell, you're practically the son he never had."

I shot him a warning glance, and he jumped. "Daughter, I mean. Don't look at me like that. It gives me the creeps."

"Maybe you deserve it."

I turned back to the Red base, where much preparation was taking place. It looked as though Sarge really had lost his mind and was building an entire army of Lopez robots. I could hear warbled singing coming from behind the base, and a strong smell of brandy hung in the air.

"Aw man, he's completely tanked," Tucker whispered. "Did he sneak some booze back from the bar? Only reason he's fighting us is 'cause he didn't have anything better to do but to get drunk!" He moaned, irritated. "Do those Lopezes even work?"

"Let's find out, shall we?" We crept toward the base and tiptoed toward one of Sarge's new robots. I pushed a button on the side of it and stepped back immediately, but nothing happened. Tucker ran over to the side of the base to make sure Sarge was preoccupied while I tried to turn on a number of his new robots, but it was in vain. I managed to open one up, even, to find out that no machinery lay inside. It was a robot shell.

_Creepy._

I sighed and rolled my eyes once we were back at the portal. "Well, it looks as though we should head back. In a couple of hours, Sarge will have a huge headache and a bunch of empty robots to keep him company."

I walked over to the portal and gave Tucker a casual salute, sliding back into the door of glowing energy. However, when the portal spit me back out again, Tucker still stood before me.

I shook my head slightly and looked around. "What the… didn't I just go through the portal?"

"Yeah…" he replied, his head cocked to the side. "Why don't you try again?"

I faced back to the portal, frowning, and took a running jump through it. When I landed outside once more, I tripped and fell to the ground, finding myself at Tucker's feet.

"What the hell?" he asked incredulously. "Is the portal broken or something?"

Without another word, he leapt through the glowing door and flew right back out, spinning slightly.

"It malfunctioned!" I gasped, bending down to the portal's frame. It seemed to be in perfectly good shape. Wincing slightly, I stuck my hand through it, only to watch as it appeared before me, sticking out of the doorway. I gasped, wrenched my hand back out of the portal, and looked back at Tucker.

"Um, I guess we're walking."

Tucker gasped. "Shit! You broke it!"

"I didn't break it!" I replied, frowning. "It… broke."

"You did! You were the last one to tamper with it!"

"What the hell, you idiot. I did not break the portal!"

"Yeah, you totally did," he retorted as we walked out from behind the rock, back to the Blue base. "What did you do? Were you too freakin' heavy for it to handle or something?"

_Oh. He did not just say that._

"_What?_" I screeched, spinning around to face him. "What did you just say?"

"I'm just saying…" he said. "Maybe you were too—"

_Whump!_

I took a flying leap and punched him as hard as I could. I felt the metal of his helmet dent beneath my fist as I dug in as hard as I could, my glove creating sparks against his headgear.

"You asshole!" I yelled. "You just called me _fat!_"

"Dammit, woman! You freakin' punched my face in and—broke—bitch—" I looked at him strangely. His voice began to stutter, emitting crackling noises and becoming fuzzier. Finally, I heard a sickening pop, and his voice grew silent.

My eyes widened. I had broken his voice radio. A laugh escaped my lips, but before I could tease him about his recent loss of communicating powers, I heard a yell from behind me.

"TEX!"

Church was running full speed at us and waving his arms wildly in the air.

I looked around expectantly for another dark-armored soldier, but saw none. Church was still flying toward us, panic-stricken and breathing heavily.

"Church, what do you mean?" I asked, an eyebrow raised. "Where's Tex?"

He paid me no attention.

"Tex, you're back!" he gasped, brushing his way past me. "I—I can't believe it. You're alive!"

I turned to see him gazing raptly at… Tucker.

Score.

Tucker shook his head wildly at Church and tried to rip his helmet off… but for some reason, it wouldn't budge. He looked desperately at me through a soot-covered visor, but I smiled darkly at him, folding my arms. It was time for a show.

Tucker backed away from a rapidly advancing Church, who didn't seem to notice that Tucker kept trying to escape from him.

"Tex, I—I'm so sorry!" gasped Church, grasping one of Tucker's hands in both of his own. He must have had a tight grip, because Tucker couldn't rip his hand away. "This is all my fault! I should have kept a closer watch on you, and—and I thought you'd died!"

I stifled a laugh as Church cornered Tucker against the side of a rock.

"I know this isn't easy, but please, hear me out!" pleaded Church, refusing to let go of Tucker. "I'll make all this up to you. I swear. Listen, I—I just want—I—"

Church's voice broke, and my eyes widened. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

"I—I love you!"

My jaw dropped, and, apparently, so had Tucker's, because he didn't move. The loudest silence I'd ever heard reverberated across the canyon as Church waited anxiously for "Tex" to respond back, proclaiming an undying love in return.

It didn't come.

"Tex, please," he moaned, kneeling to the ground before Tucker, still clinging tightly to his hand. "I'll do anything. Anything!"

"Take off his—her—helmet!" I blurted before I could stop myself.

Church turned to me slowly, as if just realizing that I was there. "What?"

"Um…" I replied, my face reddening. "You'd better find a way to get that helmet off. You know. So you can make sure you kiss the right… uh… person?"

My voice trailed off to a faint squeak as Church gazed at me, confused. Then, he grasped Tucker's helmet firmly in his hands and pulled straight upward. It didn't move. Tucker seized the sides of it himself and helped the light blue soldier, but nothing happened.

Church stood back, apparently content that Tucker was making just as much of an effort as he was in removing the helmet. "Well," he said coyly, and I had a strange feeling I didn't want to hear what he'd say next. "Looks like you're just as anxious as I am to start that making out."

Tucker froze in the middle of a heave, and then began to frantically pull up against the helmet, almost scratching the sides of it in his effort to pry it off. I supposed I had dented it in so hard it wouldn't come off, and I didn't know whether to laugh or throw up.

"Hang on, I have an idea," said Church. He pulled a utility knife out of his armor and held it dangerously close to Tucker's Adam's apple. "I'm going to cut you out of this thing."

Church plus a knife equaled bad in my book.

"Stop, stop!" I said, stepping between them. "I have a better idea."

I turned my back away from Church and leaned in close to Tucker's helmet.

"You owe me big time, you bastard," I whispered irately into the helmet as I fidgeted around with my utility belt, finally pulling out the tool I thought I'd never need. Tucker didn't say anything back—of course, he couldn't.

I placed the tiny suction cup on Tucker's cheek where I had crunched the metal into his face and pressed down. I grasped the handle firmly once it was secure to the helmet and pulled as hard as I could, and the metallic pop of metal's jumping back into place informed me that it had done the trick. I pried the suction cup from Tucker's newly restored helmet and backed away slowly. There was no way in hell I was going to be within arm's reach of these two once Tucker revealed himself.

Church, obviously pleasantly surprised, advanced toward Tucker, but before he could reach up and grab the helmet, Tucker did so himself and ripped it off with a violent wave of air.

The two Blues stared at each other silently for a moment until terrible rush of realization materialized on Church's face.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?"

A mangled stream of swear words spurted from Church's helmet, and I thought he might pass out from the sheer power of his anger.

"You—I—I—" his words came out in an infuriated heap of indistinguishable vowels and consonants, though he didn't need to form complete sentences to drip each sound with venom.

Tucker turned his head toward me and glared through narrowed eyes, and I could almost hear the insults raging through his head. Church raised up a fist to break Tucker's face, but saw where he was looking and turned to me as well, confused. Tucker mumbled something, irritated, into Church's ear and the powder blue soldier's perplexed face turned rapidly to anger again, this time directed at me.

Shit.


	9. Reconciliation, Part I

(Note: I'd like to take this opportunity to thank my wonderful reviewers, archangel 52, darklaughter, Ann Incorporated, sirensaredeadly, SPARTANXIII, Emshadow1, and Martienne. You are truly a welcome accompaniment to my work! Thanks again for reading!)

* * *

Church and Tucker wouldn't speak to me. After Tucker had whispered to Church what I'd done, we had yelled at each other at the top of our lungs until hoarse and then stormed off in separate directions.

The boys had returned to the Blue base, naturally. I had no interest in returning with them, so I'd gone over to the Red base and ranted about the incident to Donut, who listened patiently.

Now, I sat in my own room, fuming. Donut hadn't helped my case in the least.

_Really, Ells, you did overreact,_ his voice echoed in my mind. _Tucker doesn't really think you're fat. You know that._

"Shut up," I growled to my brain, blocking out the thought. He had been rude. He deserved to be punched. He _deserved_ those moments of panic from Church. Church, too, was arrogant and irritable himself. That warranted his fate as well.

As I thought this, his face appeared in my mind. I watched in my mind the moment he fell to his knees and proclaimed his love to Tex. I saw the pain and heartache etched in every line on his face as he'd pleaded to make amends. As he'd pleaded for forgiveness.

I buried my face in my pillow. What had I done?

Church had never been sensitive. He'd never shown his emotions or shown any inclinations toward other women.

He had saved it all for Tex.

I knew the story. Tucker had told me the entire saga about Church's on and off affair with the freelancer. It seemed to me as though they experienced this hate-hate relationship that blossomed over a hidden veil of affection, but I had never understood how deeply Church's feelings ran… until now.

It _was_ my fault. For one moment, Church's wildest dreams had come true, and then they'd been ripped from his sights in a matter of seconds.

It was understandable, really. Church was perfectly in the right to be upset with me.

But Tucker?

When I had arrived back at the Blue base, Church had already locked himself in his room, but Tucker was up and about, pacing and muttering furiously to himself. When he saw me, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room.

Tucker most certainly didn't need to be so hostile toward me. Perhaps I had overreacted to his comment, but he had started the entire fiasco too. Why was he so upset? I could feel the tension radiating from him through the solid walls of the base. He was truly enraged.

I placed my head in my hands. What a pile of crap. Why was I always the one who had to fix the problems around here?

_Because you start them,_ my conscience told me.

I frowned and shook my head, as if ridding myself of a pesky fly. None of those silly thoughts.

And yet, as I walked out of my room, I wondered whether any of this type of thing happened when I wasn't at Blood Gulch.

I walked nervously toward Church's room. I could see the light streaming under the bedroom door, and my heart thumped uncomfortably. I was never good at this sort of thing.

I lifted my hand and knocked three times, shaking slightly.

"What?" The reply was short and strained.

"Church, it's me," I called through the door.

"What do you want?"

"We need to talk." A silence greeted my response, and I leaned against the door. "Please, Church," I implored into the silence, almost desperate. "Don't be like this."

Another silence. I stood there for a moment, waiting for some sort of response, but none came. I was just about to give up and leave when the door opened suddenly.

Church stood in the doorway, his usually bright eyes dull. "Fine. Come in."

I made my way into his room and sat on the unmade bed. His room was messy and unkempt—clothes littered the floor, papers were stacked messily on a desk in the corner, and a hamper was piled high with dirty armor. I supposed, in this state, he didn't much care about cleanliness.

He sat down next to me, saying nothing. I chanced glance at his face, but couldn't bear to watch it for very long. He looked pale and gaunt, his mouth a tense line. An emotionless façade, to be sure, but I knew what was truly going on inside.

"Church," I began. He didn't move. "Listen. I—I know this is my fault. Tucker made me mad, and I punched him, but I was so upset with him, I was willing to let him get humiliated at your expense. I didn't… I didn't realize how terrible it would turn out to be." I looked down at my lap in shame. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause you so much pain."

He didn't say anything for a moment, and the stillness permeated the air as if time had stopped. I waited desperately for him to say something, but the silence continued, almost making me squirm with guilt.

"I thought she was back," he said finally, placing a hand at his temple. I realized I had been holding my breath and let it out in a low stream of air. "I was an idiot. I should have known it was Tucker. How many times has he gone through the portal and gotten all full of crap? I don't know what came over me." He fell silent and cleared his throat. "I—I thought… maybe, just for a moment, that it could be true. I thought I could make it up to her. But now… now I know I'll never…"

His voice trailed off, and I looked at him. His jaw was tight, and he was gazing at the ceiling. I saw his eyes suddenly become very shiny, and my face flushed in embarrassment. He swallowed and took a shaky breath, a single drop trickling down his cheek.

"Oh… oh, Leo," I gasped, tears forming in my own eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"Damn," he choked, wiping his cheek. "It's… it's okay, Ells. This was bound to happen at some point. I knew I wouldn't last much longer. It's not easy being the fearless leader all the time, you know?"

He smiled faintly, blinking furiously, which only made my throat close up even more. He was trying to be brave.

He took another quivering breath and looked away from me, and I couldn't help myself. I had three younger brothers at home. What was I going to do, just sit there and let him suffer? I moved closer to him and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, as if I could protect him from the pain or something crazy like that. He sighed unsteadily, relaxing slightly into my embrace.

I pulled away, looking worriedly at him and sniffing slightly.

"Thanks for the apology, Eleven," Church said. "I appreciate it. I think I'll be okay."

I wished I could smile, but my facial muscles weren't working properly. "I know you will be. But… I really think I need to go and talk to Tucker now. I have a feeling he's just as mad as me as you were."

He rolled his eyes. "I dunno. I think he's even more pissed than I was. I don't know why."

I sighed. "I guess I should go find out, shouldn't I?"

I left Church in peace and headed toward Tucker's room. One down, one to go. I reached Tucker's bedroom and knocked, but nothing happened. I looked down to the crack below the door—the lights were off.

He wasn't there.

I began to walk through the base, looking in every room for the aqua soldier.

"Tucker?" I called. He wasn't in the kitchen, computer lab, living area, or weight room. I checked the bathrooms, Caboose's bedroom, closets, and even my own room again.

He was nowhere to be found.


	10. Reconciliation, Part II

Tucker was gone.

I had absolutely no idea where he had run off to. I checked every room in the base twice, and finally gave up. There was no possible way he was in the base. My last resort was to ask the Reds… but I had a feeling that wouldn't get me anywhere.

"Donut," I called as I strode into the Red base a while later. "Donut, where are you?"

"In the kitchen," he answered from the other room. A mouth-watering aroma wafted beneath my nose as I walked into the kitchen. Chicken stir-fry. "What's up?" he asked, cutting up water chestnuts. "I thought you were irritated at me."

"I was, but I need to know where Tucker is."

Donut frowned. "This is the Red base, Ells…"

"Thank you, Holmes," I replied, rolling my eyes. "Okay, you obviously haven't seen him. I'll ask the others."

In the exercise room, Sarge was showing Simmons how much weight he should be lifting, while Grif was trying to covertly sneak some weights off of his exercise machine.

"Eleven!" exclaimed Simmons as I came into the room. He smiled roguishly and lifted his weights, flexing his muscles as he did so. I ignored him.

"Have you guys seen Tucker?" I asked.

"That yellow-bellied Blue?" scoffed Sarge. I could still smell a stale hint of vodka from his direction. "He knows better than to come over these parts." He glanced at Grif and caught him taking off another ten pounds off his exercise machine. "Grif! You lazy pile of turd!"

"I saw him," said Grif, sheepishly placing the ten pounds back on his machine. "He was walking out of the base into the woods."

"The woods?" I gasped. It was dark now. He couldn't seriously be out in the wilderness at night. "Does your armor have some sort of tracking device on it?"

Simmons had begun lifting enormous dumbbells, standing at an angle he knew I could see his biceps. "They do, but they only work if you turn them on. If Tucker doesn't want to be found, then he won't be. You might as well give up."

I sighed. "Whatever. I'll see you guys later."

I turned on my heel and exited without another word. I heard a thud and a howl of pain from behind me, along with sniggers.

"That's what you get for showing off," I heard Grif chuckle.

As I walked back over to the Blue base, I gazed into the woods, then upward. Even with the copious amounts of stars littering the sky, Tucker wouldn't be able to see a thing.

I sighed and trudged to the roof of the Blue base once I reached it. Maybe, just maybe, I would be able to see some aqua-colored armor lights darting through the trees.

I made it to the roof and gasped.

"Tucker!"

He sat at the edge of the base, gazing up at the blanket of stars above us.

"What do you want?" He had taken off his helmet and it lay, forgotten, beside him.

"Tucker, I've been looking all over for you," I said. "I thought you'd left."

"Well, I did. But now I'm here." His reply was short and irritated, and he wouldn't look at me. "Now you can leave."

"Oh, come on, won't you hear me out?" I asked. This was ridiculous.

"Fact is, I don't feel like it. Goodbye."

I wasn't going to give up that easily. I walked right up to where he was sitting and plopped down beside him.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Church is the one who's supposed to be mad at me, not you."

"Oh, because that makes so much sense," he said sarcastically, avoiding my gaze. I could only see one side of his face, and his angry features were highlighted by the stars as he stared determinedly away from me. "You only punched my face in and let me be completely embarrassed by my own teammate. Wait, scratch that. You didn't _let_ it happen. You _wanted _it to happen. And you pretty much killed Church in the process. I hope you're happy."

"For your information," I replied frostily. "I just went and had a conversation with Church. And I think he's going to be okay now. He had much more of a right than you do to be upset with me. At least I didn't break your heart!"

"How the hell do you know what you did?" he spat. I frowned slightly, and he clamped his mouth shut. "You—you just can't do stuff like that," he said more quietly, turning his head even farther away from me.

"I—what do you mean?"

He sighed in frustration. "You're so emotional. Like, the second I said that comment, you freaked out. Then, after I told Church it was your fault he thought I was Tex, you got all upset and shit and ran off."

"So what?"

"So—so you ran off to the Reds!"

I stared into the back of his head, which still wouldn't turn to me. Was this seriously all because of the stupid war?

"Listen," I snarled. "I am perfectly in the right to do whatever I want. I'm not a Blue or a Red, remember? So don't go and get all upset if I decide I like the Reds better. Just because you guys are battling doesn't mean I want any part of it."

Tucker sneered up at the stars. "Oh please. Don't give me that crap. I know you ran off to go and cry on Simmons' shoulder."

I burst out laughing. "Simmons? God, I can't get that guy off my freaking case. After that fiasco, I didn't want to have anything to do with anyone. Even Donut wouldn't take my side."

Tucker sat straight up. "You… didn't talk to Simmons?"

"Of course not. He's an idiot."

Tucker's sneer broke into a genuine smile. "You got that right. Especially with that stupid rescue thing he did. I thought he was going break your hand with how hard he was grabbing you."

I jolted upright.

"Rescue?" I asked. "At the _bar?"_

Tucker gasped and clapped a hand over his mouth.

He remembered.

I tried to wrap my brain around this concept as a silence ensued. Tucker had tried to rescue me… on purpose. What the hell…?

"Um, okay, how about we make a deal?" I asked, half-smiling and trying to make light of this realization. "How about you forgive me for punching your face in, and you apologize for starting the bar fight?"

The stars glowed on what I could see of Tucker's face as he looked to the sky. I saw the light shine on his strong facial features, touching his messy wisps of hair as well.

"Okay, deal." We shook hands, and he turned his face fully to me for the first time.

"Oh… oh my God!"

A jagged red line of blood ran along Tucker's face. From his cheekbone, it made a curve under his eye and ran to the edge of his nose. The blood had clotted, from what I could see, but the angry gash still burned crimson under the starlight.

_What have I done?_


	11. Reconciliation, Part III

"Tucker, I—" My voice faltered. "Did… did I do that?"

Tucker pulled away and covered the laceration with his hand. "Let's just say you've got a hard punch…" He smiled, but winced as he did so.

Horrified, I reached out and lowered his hand from his face. I saw the crescent-shaped cut clearly in the starlight—a sliver of red moon. How had that slipped my notice? I ran the entire day's events through my mind like a movie. As Church and I had yelled at each other outside the portal, Tucker had silently fumed, standing out of my sight behind his powder-blue companion… when I had returned to the Blue base, he had left the premise immediately upon finding out I was there. I hadn't seen his face clearly all day.

Hesitantly, I placed a finger on the cut, tracing it along its curve. Tucker inhaled sharply but didn't pull away; he simply closed his eyes, eyebrows knit. When I removed my finger from his face, it was stained scarlet.

"God, Tucker," I whispered. "I'm so sorry…"

"Seriously, Ells. It's okay. It's not even bleeding that much anymore."

"Come on," I said promptly, getting up and dragging him with me. "We've got to put something on that. If it gets infected, it'll be really gross."

Tucker sighed. "Fine…"

In the kitchen, I rummaged in one of the cabinets for the disinfectant.

"What were you doing in the forest?" I asked him, shoving unopened bottles of ketchup and Windex aside in search of the antibacterial ointment. "Grif said he saw you walking away from the base."

Tucker reddened slightly. "Oh… yeah. That. Um, when I need to be alone, I have this secret place where I can go. Just to think and stuff. I know it's stupid."

"It's not stupid," I replied, opening an unmarked white bottle and sniffing it. I wrinkled my nose and poured the contents down the sink. "Where is it?"

"I'm not going to tell you that! What would be the point of its being _secret_?"

"Hmm. Fair enough." I finally reached a tube of antiseptic and sat down at the kitchen table. "It doesn't happen to be your rock, does it?"

"No!" Tucker sputtered. He sat in the chair next to me, enraged. "Church made up that stupid story about the rock! You know how many damn rocks I've avoided since he started spreading rumors about me to everyone?"

"Yeah, all seven of you," I smirked, squirting some of the ointment on my finger and dabbing it on Tucker's cheek. He frowned at the sting but stayed still. "Unless you count Sheila and Lopez. Or the multiple Lopez shells."

"All those dead Lopezes are super creepy. I wonder what Sarge did with them once all that vodka went through his system."

"I have no idea."

I heard a door open and close from down the hall.

"Do the others know about your face?" I asked.

"What, Church and Caboose? Yeah, they know. I was raging about you to them while you were gone."

"I'm surprised you couldn't hear it across the canyon," interrupted Church, stalking into the room. His eyes were red, though his voice seemed normal. I wondered how long Tucker and I had been up on the roof. "You guys want to watch a movie or something?"

"Sure," replied Tucker. "I think Caboose went over to the Red base to hang out with Donut, so do you wanna tell him we're gonna get started?" He half-smiled. "Normally, I would, but my voice radio isn't exactly working…"

"Very funny," I said, turning on my communicator. "Caboose, this is Eleven. Caboose, do you copy?"

"Copy what?" I heard from the other end of the line. "We don't even have a printer!"

I sighed, shaking my head. "Caboose, we're going to watch a movie now. Do you want to come back to the base to watch it with us?"

"Oh. Okay! I'm coming now! And we will make popcorn!" The line went dead, and I clicked my radio off.

"Okay guys, let's pick out a movie before Caboose gets here," Tucker said, heading to the living room. "Otherwise, we'll end up watching _My Little Pony_ again."

"Do you _own My Little Pony_?" I asked, incredulous.

"You never know what Caboose might bring back from the Reds," Church muttered darkly. "I swear, Donut has a secret stash of weird movies…"

We ended up deciding on _Gladiator_, which I felt was a little more appropriate for a group of soldiers than a video of a bunch of pink horses. Just after popping the first bag of popcorn, we heard noise at the entrance of the base.

"That must be Caboose," I said, walking down the hall. "Caboose, I'm sorry, but we decided to watch—"

Not one soldier walked in the entrance of the base, but five. Blue, red, maroon, yellow, and pink.

"Hey, Ells!" said Donut cheerfully. "We brought chips and dip!"

"What the—" I stammered as the Reds and Caboose piled into the base. "What are you doing here?"

"I knew I smelled some rats!" said Church, coming to the entrance. "What the hell. You guys weren't invited!"

"Caboose invited us!" said Simmons defiantly. "It is the vacation, after all."

"Caboose…" Church growled. "What did I tell you about inviting the enemy over?"

Caboose kept walking down the hall, completely unaware of the tension around him. "I smell popcorn!" he said excitedly. "I want to watch the movie now!"

I sighed, placing a finger to my temple. "Okay, okay. Listen. This isn't such a big deal. Reds, is there any way you guys could go back to your own base to watch the movie? I mean, I just don't want to cause trouble."

"Fine, but you guys have the movie we want," said Grif. "We can just borrow it and leave."

"We wouldn't want to be in the same room as the Blues anyway," added Sarge.

"Okay, which one do you want?"

"_Gladiator_."

"No damn way," said Church fiercely. "_We're_ watching that one tonight."

"I brought _Titanic_…" piped up Donut hopefully.

Simmons opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. "We're going to be watching _Gladiator_, but if you guys want to watch it too, you'll have to stay here, okay? Just… be civil." Church began to protest, but I stopped him. "Church, as the leader, you should be open-minded," I chastised him. "Just… deal with it for one night, okay? They'll leave after the movie is over. What's the big deal anyway? They came over for the Superbowl earlier this year…"

Church sighed. "Fine. But if you Reds try anything funny, we'll be ready."

The guys headed to the kitchen to get the snacks ready, while I went to the living room and popped in the DVD.

_Well, this should be interesting…_

I sat down on the couch in the middle of the room, wondering how the seating arrangements would end up.

The guys piled into the room and took their seats. Sarge dragged in one of the kitchen chairs and grumpily sat at the edge of the room, muttering under his breath.

"…Bad idea… can't trust 'em… got my shotgun ready…"

Donut and Caboose sat side-by-side at the end of one of the couches, Donut patiently explaining the plot of the movie. I didn't think he'd have much luck with that.

Simmons came and sat right next to me on the couch. I scooted over mildly as Grif sat on Simmons' other side. Church went and plopped down next to Caboose, while Tucker took the seat on my other side, though not quite as uncomfortably close as Simmons had been.

Sarge switched off the light as the movie started, and I looked around. I saw the light from the screen reflected on each of the faces in the room, and I couldn't help but smile at the differences between them. Caboose already hid behind his hands, and Donut gazed wistfully at his _Titanic _DVD. Grif and Sarge were arguing about some obscure plot point, while Church tried to pay close attention to the movie, every so often shooting annoyed glances in their direction. For some reason, Simmons seemed to be moving closer to me as the movie progressed, and I continually moved away from him, but this meant I was getting closer to Tucker. Soon, I was sandwiched between the two of them and sighed in frustration. Would this madness never end?

Tucker looked over at my irritated face and leaned forward a bit, seeing the nonexistent space between me and Simmons and the very existent space between Simmons and Grif. He could have fit four people in that area.

"Dude, how much space do you need on the couch?" Tucker asked loudly. "You really need to lay off the twinkies."

Simmons glared over at the aqua soldier and scooted back in the opposite direction, giving me room to breathe. I shifted to a comfortable spot and smiled at Tucker. _Thanks._

He grinned in reply and we continued to watch the movie.

Here they were, a group of enemies, sitting around the same TV on the same couches and eating the same snacks. Sharing the same CIA agent.

The irony was entertaining… for tonight, at least.


	12. Learning to Share

The only time of day I could escape from the craziness of the Reds and Blues was in the early mornings. After late nights of videogames, pizza, and movies, I knew the boys wouldn't wake up until almost afternoon. It was before then when I could have some peace and quiet.

I woke up at the same time as the sun. I forced myself to get up and rummage through my drawers until I found some sweats and running shoes. I pulled them on and donned only the necessary parts of my armor; running was much more comfortable the less of my uniform I wore. Tiptoeing through the base, I slipped silently out into the chilly morning air.

After stretching out, I began to run. Thank goodness the others weren't with me—Caboose would get distracted and lost, Sarge would be yelling at me to go faster, Simmons would be showing off, and who knows what other antics the others would get themselves into. I relished the fact that I could actually hear myself think. That didn't happen too often.

Soon, I made it up the hill out of the canyon and into the surrounding forests. I didn't worry about getting lost as I ran; the device on my belt would give me precise directions for making it back to the blue base. It glowed silently as I ran farther away from the base, tracking my progress.

After a hard run, I stopped to take a rest. Taking out my cantine, I gulped water between exhausted breaths, trying to calm my heart rate. These stupid hills were going to be the end of me. The sun was almost completely up, but the air was still cold—a feature I was grateful for now that I was sweating from my run. After calming down somewhat, I began to jog back to the Blue base, but through a different route than the one I took coming in. My GPS complained as I did so, but redirected me nonetheless.

As I headed through the forest, I ran past a clearing that blew warm air at me. Screeching to a halt, I went back to the clearing and realized what had been emanating the steam.

"Woah," I whispered to no one in particular. "A pool!"

A large, crystal-clear freshwater spring was surrounded by a ring of forest, bubbling slightly. Small amounts of steam radiated from the body of water, and I was struck with a sudden idea.

Pool party.

* * *

"Donut!" I whispered excitedly at breakfast later on. I had sprinted back to the Blue base and made myself presentable before going over to the Reds. Naturally, Donut was up before the rest of the group, working on his latest culinary creation. "You'll never believe what I found!"

"What?" he asked as he served us two enormous plates of waffles.

"A pool!"

"Seriously? Here?" he asked, pouring maple syrup on his serving.

"Yes!" I said back. "Well, it's not a pool, exactly, but we can use it as one! It's this beautiful, clean pond just at the edge of the forest. We should go swimming today!"

It sounded extremely odd to say these words—after all, I was part of an army for the moment—but Donut lightened up as he still held onto the bottle, the syrup continuing to douse his waffles.

"Yeah!" he said. "I have swimming trunks I haven't used yet—they're the best shade of lightish red—and I've been wanting to try them out!"

"I'm so glad you want to do it too," I grinned. "It's kind of chilly outside, so I wasn't sure if you would want to."

"That's true…" he said. "Is the water cold?"

"Well, not really," I replied. Donut had apparently forgotten about his waffles—the maple syrup continued to escape from its bottle. "I think it's actually a heated spring. So it'll stay pretty warm, I imagine."

"Then let's go for it," Donut said excitedly. "We'll make it a picnic!"

"Uh, do you want to stop drowning your poor waffles?" I interrupted. "It's slow and painful, that death by syrup."

He quickly scooped up the bottle and returned it to the table sheepishly. It was half empty, and the sticky stuff began to drizzle out of his plate and onto the floor.

"Okay," I continued, planning out loud. "But… what are we going to do about the others? The last thing I want is Grif's mocking attitude and Simmons'… I don't know. I just don't want it."

"Let's invite Caboose," said Donut. "He'll be good about it, and he won't stare at that great two-piece you'll wear."

"I—How did you know that?"

He laughed under his breath. "It's pretty obvious why you wouldn't want Simmons there—his eyes could pop out of their sockets, and it would be messy for you to clean up and take the blame."

* * *

I looked around nervously and saw no one in the water yet. Caboose and Donut had gone back to get the cherry pies Donut and I had made, so I decided to get in the water before they could see me.

True, my two-piece wasn't immodest, but I still felt uncomfortable wearing it in front of the excess testosterone. I reminded myself that it was only Caboose and Donut, so no unnecessary attention would go my way, but I just didn't want to risk it.

I carefully stepped out into the clearing and removed my towel, feeling extremely exposed as I walked toward the edge of the spring. Just as I was about to jump in the water, I heard a rustle of leaves behind me from the trees.

I turned around, praying it was Caboose and Donut, but to my dismay, two figures stepped into the clearing and stopped, stock-still, at the sight of me.

I froze. They were wearing bathing suits—one powder blue, one aqua.

"Uh, hi guys," I said, trying to be casual. Why had I left my towel back over by the trees? Tucker had a half-smile painted on his face in shock. "What brings you here?"

"Wh—what are you doing?" asked Church incredulously."You're… swimming?"

"Is that a problem?" I asked politely, but I think it came out as sarcastic instead.

He cocked his head. "Well, no. It's just… that's what we're doing."

"Oh. Um. Well, I didn't know you knew about this place."

"Likewise. Tucker, Caboose and I found this spring a while ago and we've been using it as a pool. I didn't know you had found it too. We were just gonna take a dip, and we figured you were gonna be with the Reds all day, so we didn't invite you. Plus, why would we want them to know about—"

Donut popped out of the trees at light speed and collided with Tucker.

"Shit, sorry. I mean, what the hell? How did you guys find us?"

"Find us?" Church repeated heatedly. "How did _you _find _us_?"

"Dude, Ells found this place first and told me about it. So don't get all bitchy on me. We were first."

Church laughed. "Actually, the Blues found this area ages ago. I could take you as a POW right now, considering you're trespassing."

"Trespassing?" Donut sputtered. "You never made this official Blue property! I should just—"

"Guys, guys!" I said loudly, interrupting his threat. "Listen, it's the holiday. Can't we just… you know… share? We went to the bar together, remember?"

"Yeah, and look at how great that turned out to be…" muttered Tucker darkly.

"Listen, as long as Simmons isn't here, then—"

Another rustle came from the bushes, and I groaned.

"Did someone call my name?" asked a maroon-bathing-suit-clad soldier. He stepped out into the clearing, saw me, and toppled over in the grass.

"El—Eleven?" he asked shakily, still sitting. He gulped nervously, looking away from me. "Well, nice to see you."

"Damn," muttered another soldier, stumbling out of the trees in an orange suit. "You couldn't have run any slower, could you, lover boy?" Grif panted loudly and kept complaining until Sarge stepped out as well, dressed in his own red swim trunks.

"Well, boys, look what we have here," he said viciously to the Blues. "Come to steal our pool?"

"Donut…" I said slowly. "What are the other Reds doing here?"

"That's what I was trying to tell you when I ran through here!" cried Donut, annoyed. "They were wondering where I'd gone and I didn't realize that they followed me here."

I let out my air in one slow breath as the bickering continued.

"Guys? Guys? Okay, SHUT UP!"

All eyes turned to me, and I blushed, praying my towel would magically float over to me.

"We're on vacation. I know you're programmed to hate each other and everything, but seriously. We just recently watched a movie together with no major fiascos. I don't get why we can't just freakin' share the pool. It's not that big of a deal. You say the Blues found it first—fine. Then the Blues provide the pool, and the Reds provide the food. We made pies. How does that sound?"

The guys looked around uneasily.

"I like pie," piped in Caboose hopefully.

Unable to help themselves, the others chuckled.

"Last one in the water gets a pie to the face!" cried Donut, running to the pond and diving in. I followed suit, laughing and splashing the pink-clad private. The water felt perfect, and small alien fish swam around my toes.

"I'm coming in!" said Simmons, almost tripping over himself in his attempt at getting into the water. I rolled my eyes and looked up at the Blues.

"Me too!" said Caboose. He jumped in, creating the biggest splash, hitting everyone in and out of the pond. Sarge staggered back, cursing and spluttering, but Tucker laughed and followed Caboose into the water.

"What the hell…" muttered Church, and dove in as well.


	13. Party Crashers, Part I

Soon, we were all laughing and splashing each other, playing sharks and minnows and volleyball (Donut hadn't forgotten any necessary pool accessories).

"Hey, Ells, you wanna play chicken?" asked Simmons, making his way toward me. Donut already sat on a complaining Grif's shoulders. "You can be on top…"

"Bow chicka bow wow," whispered Tucker slyly, and I splashed him.

"I'll pass, Simmons. Why don't you play with Tucker?"

Neither of the boys looked happy as I excused myself from the game and made my way to the other end of the spring. Sarge watched over us like a menacing lifeguard, sitting in the shade, polishing his gun, and staring suspiciously at the Blues.

"Oh, come on, Sarge," I said, propping myself up by my elbows at the edge of the pool. "What's the deal? Can't you come in for a swim?"

"I can't believe you would suggest such a thing," Sarge muttered. "Someone's gotta be the leader around here, and it's obviously not gonna be any of you miscreants."

I laughed. "Please, Sarge. Nothing could possibly go wrong." I looked wistfully to my towel sitting innocently by the trees… I was starting to feel a little chilly, despite the temperature of the pool. I looked sneakily around the water, watching the boys now dunk each other, paying no attention to me. If only I could get out of the water and across the clearing to my towel without notice…

After making sure Simmons' head was thoroughly under water, I thrust myself out of the spring and made a run for it. Thankfully, I was still fresh from my morning jog and made it to my towel without incident, save for Sarge's rolling his eyes at me. I sat down beside him.

"I don't get it, Sarge," I said as he continued cleaning his weapon. "You hate the Blues so much, yet you're willing to hang out with them during vacation. Why not just shoot them now?"

"What kind of soldier do you think I am?" he replied, aghast. "I may not be the brightest bulb of the bunch, but I sure as hell ain't a cheater. You just wait. This all is infiltration work. I'm usin' this opportunity to learn about how they work. Their ins, outs, habits. It's still a war, and the Reds are gonna win it."

I sighed, smiling and shaking my head. "So what have you learned so far? Anything good?"

Sarge looked up, placing his polishing rag aside and folding his arms. "Yep. Lots of stuff. Their weaknesses."

"Like what?"

"I can't say!" he replied gruffly. "I know you're a good soldier and all, but you're around those Blues too damn much." I began to protest, but he stopped me. "I'm not sayin' you'll leak or anything. It's just… complicated."

"How so?" I asked crossly. "What's so complicated about their weaknesses?"

"You."

A half laugh escaped my lips. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Hmm…" he replied, running a finger through the stubble on his chin. "Maybe you ain't as bright as I thought." I raised an eyebrow at him, and he rolled his eyes. "Listen, Eleven, just because—" He paused. "Do ya hear that?"

I cocked my head, listening. A rustling heartbeat was drifting through the trees—a steady thumping that slowly grew louder and louder.

"What is that?" I whispered. "Footsteps?"

"Naw," said Sarge slowly, squinting through the foliage. "It's too steady to be a human." He paused for a moment as the low, percussive sound grew. "It's too damn loud to be one human too…."

Each beat came with the crunching sound of breaking branches, crackling leaves, scampering animals. The drumlike pounding grew in volume with every sound.

"Sarge," I said worriedly. "This can't be good. We should get the others out of the water. I have no idea what—"

_CRASH!_

Our side of the clearing exploded. I shrieked as twigs and branches showered down on me, and Sarge yelled. Through the flying greenery, I saw what had been making the noise.

My heart stopped.

"What in Sam hill…" gasped Sarge, unable to utter anything else. "L… Lopez!"

Not one Lopez. Not two. An entire army of brown robots marched into view.

"REDS! BLUES!" I screamed, almost falling over in my attempt to get their attention. "Get your asses out of the pool!"

They all turned simultaneously and gasped as one entity, their eyes going wide.

"Time to get out now!" Caboose squeaked. The boys scrambled out of the pool—Grif moved the fastest I had ever seen him go—and reached their towels in record time.

"The one damn time we don't bring our guns…" panted Church as we huddled together behind Sarge, the only one with a weapon. The army stared at us silently as they entered the clearing, stopping the advancement. As their footsteps died, the eardrum-ripping pounding faltered.

The clearing was silent.

"Lopez," called Sarge tentatively. "I… I mean Lopezes. What's the meaning of this?"

As one, the brown heads turned to stare at their apparent leader, who looked no different, save for the fact that he held the largest weapon. A sniper.

"Where the hell did he get a sniper?" whispered Simmons.

Church gasped. "That—that's _mine!"_

"Ya estamos cansado de tus payasadas," Lopez explained in his flat monotone. A chill ran down my spine. "Ahora vamos a terminar todo."

"I don't know what he just said, but it doesn't sound good," said Grif, his voice cracking. "Does anyone else think it's time to run?"

Sarge laughed nervously. "You—you're tired of our antics? Now, now, ain't endin' everything a little harsh?"

Lopez lifted his sniper at our group. "Adios, Sargento."

"Um, I think Grif's got a good idea going here," I interjected as Lopez aimed. "RUN!"

Our group scattered through the woods as Lopez fired, missing our group but splintering the tree behind us.

"Looks like it really is you, Church!" yelled Tucker as the entire group of Lopezes began to march at us again, firing through the trees. "Lopez can aim just fine when he uses your sniper! You just suck!"

Church's irritated comeback was interrupted by branches collapsing down on us. "Shut up, both of you!" I screamed. "Let's just get back to base!"

As we ran though the forest, I tried to keep track of everyone. I saw random streaks of blue and red as we dodged the bullets being fired at us, silently thanking Sarge for not giving them wheels or something; we could easily outrun them.

We finally stumbled back into Blood Gulch and were about to rush into the Blue base when we stopped short. A swarm of Lopezes were covering the base, and Sheila was guarding it.

"Oh, look!" exclaimed Caboose. "Sheila has come to help us!" He walked forward, waving excitedly. "Sheeeeeeilaaaaaa!"

"Shit," I muttered as the tank turned her guns to us. "Caboose, get back here!" I grabbed him as she fired at us, amazed that we escaped her bullets as well. "We need to get to Red base!"

"Are you insane?" yelled Grif. "They're all probably there too! We're trapped!"

"What other choice do we have?" Simmons fumed. "Let's just check."

We ran over to the Red base and found many fewer Lopezes there—the rest were probably still tracking us in the forest.

"Got it," said Sarge. With a few swift fires, he took out the guarding robots and we ran inside. "We need to barricade ourselves in!"

Running around the base, we locked all the doors and windows and huddled in the basement.

There was silence above us.

"Sarge," I growled, turning to the Red. "You have some explaining to do."


	14. PSA 1: Foul Fowl

We would like to interrupt this program with an important message from our sponsors.

Sarge: Hello, everyone! This is Sergeant Sarge from the popular Web series Red vs. Blue!

Chruch: And this is Private Leonard L. Church from the same show.

Sarge: Today, we are going to talk about the importance of Thanksgiving! Now, I assume all of you know exactly why we celebrate this day of thanks.

Chruch: Yes, it's a very honored way of showing our respect for—

Sarge: Turkeys!

Church: Excuse me?

Sarge: It's all because of the turkeys. Look at this chart. _(Graph appears on screen) _Now look. Here, you can see the annual birth rate of turkeys. It's growing exponentially!

Church: It looks like that was drawn with crayon…

Sarge: The turkeys are growing in number. They're everywhere. I mean, forget the animosity of free-range chickens! Turkeys are the real problem. They sit there, on the farms, day after day. Night after night. You know what they do? They populate planet Earth, and sit in their pens plotting against us. Soon, you can see_—(points with suspicion at graph)—_that the number of turkeys on Earth will soon surpass the population of humans!

Church: We're not on Earth!

Sarge: So, kids, you see that Thanksgiving is the only way humanity can survive!

Church: …

Sarge: _(smiles expectantly)_

Church: What the hell are you talking about?

Sarge: And, kids, you also see how stupid the Blues are. It's painfully obvious, Private!

Church: Yeah, uh, apparently, the stupid Blues need an explanation.

Sarge: Let this be a lesson to the lot of you. Never, under any circumstances, become a Blue. It may be as dangerous to your well-being as fraternizing with turkeys.

Church: Thank you. Always so enlightening. Can we get a move on?

Sarge: Don't blame me if you're just jealous. _(clears throat importantly)_ Well, as you can see with my chart of the near future's turkey population, they will soon outnumber us—

Church: _(under breath) _Don't they already?

Sarge: —and join together. _(whispers conspiratorially)_ Once they realize that they have the numerical advantage, we're all doomed. They'll revolt, first overthrowing their farmers, and then the city councils, gaining power by the second, soon taking over the White House, and then the League of Nations!

Church: Uh, I don't think—

Sarge: And then, once they've taken control of the government, they'll send their mafia out to kill us, and they'll pick off the world's leaders, one… by… one.

_(dramatic silence; Church gapes at Sarge)_

Soon, they'll have their own secret police, murdering humans in their sleep or else forcing them into slavery! It's a dangerous future, I know, but that's why you _(points to camera)_ need to step up and be the change you wish to see in the world!

Church: Don't bring Gandhi into this!

Sarge: Yes, I know it's hard to believe, but it's true. Every Thanksgiving, we have the chance to save our lives, our well-being. By placing a turkey at your table, you are helping to keep their population in check. Who knows? You might be having a member of the turkey mafia for dinner, sparing the lives of many human beings!

Church: We need to stop recording this.

Sarge: So go out and buy a turkey! Buy two or three! Get them… before they get you.

* * *

(Note: Happy Thanksgiving to all those in the United States! Support the cause, have some turkey. Or else have some mashed potatoes. I've heard those get quite angry when they're feeling oppressed… we wouldn't want another uprising on our hands. Anyway, this is a short little blurb just in time for the holiday. I decided to try a bit of a different format for the PSA, just to see if you like it. Anyway, enjoy your vacations if you're having one! Until next week. –Stella)


	15. Party Crashers, Part II

We all stared at Sarge, silent. We could hear faint disturbances from above us—I imagined the Lopezes were now trying to infiltrate the Red base. Or patrol it, at least.

Sarge glared back at us, irritated. "I don't know what the hell's goin' on, okay?" he said defensively. "You think I'd want Lopez to be runnin' rampant all over the place? And controllin' his own army? Hell, it's my worst nightmare. And now it's come true."

"How did this happen?" asked Donut. He still wore his bathing suit but had lost his towel. He was shivering. "When?"

"I'll tell ya what I know," replied Sarge. "But I'm warning ya. It's not much."

We said nothing, simply watching him as he collected his thoughts.

"I was pissed," he began.

"That really narrows it down," muttered Grif.

For once, Sarge ignored the yellow-orange soldier. "I was pissed," he repeated. "And drunk. I think. I guess I was drunk before I was pissed. Anyway, I decided that the Blues needed to be gotten rid of once and for all. So, I decided to create an army. My own, personal army. Men who would do what I wanted for once."

Simmons looked deeply affronted.

"I thought it was a perfect plan. If I could have one Lopez, why couldn't I have a hundred? Then they'd rip you dirty Blues apart. I worked on them for hours. It was strange, though… while I was working, I think I heard some weird commotion going on by the portal not too far from here…"

I looked sheepishly over to the Blues. Tucker glanced over at me, an eyebrow raised. He didn't look upset, but merely amused. His scar gleamed in the fluorescent light of the basement, and I looked back at Sarge. His cut was not healing very well; sometimes, if he made a sudden facial movement or laughed too hard, it would start bleeding again. As if I didn't feel guilty enough already.

"Well, besides that, everything was fine. I thought I had the entire thing covered. Then…" he trailed off, lost in thought. "I fell asleep."

"You fell asleep?" cried Grif. "That's the end of your story? How lame!"

"I haven't finished yet, you flea-ridden, mangy mongrel!"

Grif shut his mouth with a snap and rolled his eyes.

"All right. So I fell asleep. I had a hell of a lot of vodka, I can tell you that. I can hardly remember how many Lopezes I made, or how I did it even. But when I did wake up, I checked my army, and realized just how drunk I was: I had forgotten to give them their motors. The main power source that resides in their chests. So I decided to go and get all the spare motors I had in the basement and—"

"You had spare motors in the basement?" interrupted Simmons. "And you never told me?"

"Shut it, drama queen. No one cares about your silly computers. I'm still telling the story!"

Simmons fell silent, scowling at his superior.

"I went down into the basement… and there was nothing. All of my motors were gone. I couldn't believe it. I had about a hundred of them, and not one was there. I spent so much time lookin' for those damn motors, but I never found them. And… that's that."

"It's so obvious," said Simmons, still annoyed. "Really, it is. It was Lopez. He knew what you were doing, and he waited until we were all gone at the pool to put them together. That was the perfect time to attack, too—none of us had armor on. He must have snuck down here and stolen the motors, then hidden them somewhere. He totally screwed us over!"

"Damn," said Church. "Why'd Lopez betray you guys? I thought he practically worshipped Sarge."

"Well, so did we," replied Grif. "But who really understands what he's saying anyway?"

No one had a good answer for this.

"The main thing now is to figure out how to stop them," said Tucker. "Or to find out what they want, you know?"

"Yeah… but how do we talk to them without getting blown up first?" asked Grif.

"Listen, you guys," I interrupted. "Before we do anything, there is no way in hell we can be within fifty feet of those guys without our armor. If you haven't noticed, we're all still in bathing suits."

They looked down at themselves simultaneously.

"Right," coughed Simmons. "Well, we have extra armor upstairs, in our rooms. We just need to sneak up there without disturbing the Lopezes."

We looked uneasily at each other. "Is that safe?" asked Donut. "Doesn't sound like it…"

"We don't have any other choice," I replied. "We'll just have to be fast."

"Woah, woah, woah. I am not about to put on Red armor!" yelled Church. "It's against my fricking morals!"

"Same here!" seconded Tucker. "That's just nasty!"

"Me, too!" Caboose chimed in. "Wait, what are we talking about?"

"Lucky for you, dirtbags, each of us only has one extra set of armor. So you're stuck in your swim trunks," Sarge laughed. "You'll have to fight the Lopezes in your birthday suits!"

Church sighed in frustrated. "Dammit. Where the hell are we going to get extra Blue suits? We can't risk going to our base!"

"Why don't we focus on finding the Red armor first, okay? That's the least we can do for now, and it's better than nothing. We'll just have to look around and see if we can equip you with something else." I had no idea what "something else" would be, but it was worth a shot. "You have, like, extra guns and stuff upstairs, don't you?"

"Ugh, this is ridiculous," complained Grif. "Let's just get this over with."

"All right," I took a deep breath. "Reds, you come with me. We'll go get the armor. Blues, just stay down here and don't do anything… stupid."

We left the offended Blues in the basement and headed upstairs stealthily. Fairly confident that the Lopezes couldn't get inside the base—we had taken every security measure possible—we just needed to move from room to room without letting the robots see us through the windows. Unfortunately, this was easier said than done; the Reds had left all the windows uncovered. In a spurt of artistic fervor, Donut had ripped the curtains from the walls and made himself a vest and matching handbag from them.

"Duck!" whispered Simmons as we passed by a window. Hiding below the edges of the frame, I saw a Lopez walk by. It froze and stared into the window, and I held my breath, praying it didn't see us. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the Lopez swiveled its head forward and continued its patrol.

"Hurry up," grunted Sarge. We followed him, slinking down the hallway and avoiding every window possible. Finally, we reached the bedrooms.

"Do you all know where your spare armor is?" I asked in a low voice.

"Uh, I don't," said Grif guiltily. "My room is sort of a mess…"

Somehow, I wasn't surprised. "Okay, I'll go with you," I replied. "Come on."

We parted ways after agreeing to meet outside Grif's bedroom after retrieving the spare armor.

* * *

After wading through piles of dirty clothes, old candy bar wrappers, and hidden beer cans, Grif and I finally found his extra armor. I left him in peace to change and entered the hallway again. He was the last one to be ready; Simmons, Donut and Sarge had already changed and sat in front of the bedroom door.

After speaking in hushed voices for a while, Grif stepped out of his bedroom and nodded to us. We stood up quietly, tiptoeing our way back to the basement. Outside, the faint noise of the robot army had ceased again. The Lopezes had fallen silent.


	16. Party Crashers, Part III

My ears strained to hear a noise—something—anything—but all was quiet. It was unnerving. I looked back to the others, and each wore a worried frown. I knew we were all thinking the same thing.

Where were the Lopezes?

I motioned at them to be quiet and we crept through the base. Praying that our movements would go unnoticed, we moved past each window, creeping beneath it and making sure no one could see us from outside.

We were at the last window—the last, and the largest. The one under which we had hidden on our way to the bedrooms. I gulped nervously and beckoned the others.

We were almost there. I could see the basement's door, gaping at us like a taunting mouth. We just needed to get everyone across this spot and we'd be free to join the others downstairs.

I nodded at the Reds, and we crouched down below the windowsill and began to crawl. I heard nothing but the shifting of armor and friction of our hands and knees on the floor. Outside, silence.

Silence.

Silence.

Snap.

We froze. Still on hands and knees, our breaths held, we paused. Eyes wide, I gazed at the others, praying that they would stay still.

A moment passed, and then two. Perhaps we had imagined the noise. Sarge motioned at us to continue; we began to breathe again, and lifted up a leg or hand to continue the labored crawl.

I hadn't moved forward an inch when a pure blast knocked me from my knees.

The window shattered. Shards of glass rained down on me, and I squealed in pain as the glass cut into my body. The others rolled away from the window, crunching against the debris scattered on the floor, but I couldn't move.

"Guys!" I yelped, trying to get the glass off of me. A piece stuck in the palm of my hand, and I inhaled sharply. The wound oozed blood, dripping to the carpet. "Guys! I can't move!"

_Shit, shit, shit,_ I thought. I had no armor. I was still wearing the damned bathing suit, with nothing but the towel for protection. I felt the minute pieces of the window all over my body, some piercing the skin.

"Just stay there!" yelled Grif. He stood near the fireplace, trying to load a gun. "We're going to—oh,_ shit!"_

I followed his gaze to the window and terror welled up inside me. The entire robot army marched toward the window, guns firing at the Reds.

This was it. The end. If I moved, the glass would stab me. If I didn't, the robots would shoot me. Somehow, neither of the options seemed particularly appealing.

I didn't even have time to decide what to do when the Lopezes walked mechanically through the window, shooting at the others. I couldn't see where the Reds had run off to, but blasts of retaliation were emanating from their direction, some hitting and disabling a robot or two, but some completely missing altogether.

A shot of red hit the wall about four inches from me. If the robots or glass didn't kill me, the Reds would. I was definitely taken care of in the death department.

The first Lopez reached me. My breathing became faster as his gun pointed straight to my forehead, and I felt my throat close up. _Goodbye, guys,_ I thought, willing myself not to tear up. I would not die a coward.

The Lopez clicked the gun, and I closed my eyes, waiting for the blast of sound, the blinding pain, the darkness. I waited for the moment when my heartbeat would cease.

It didn't come.

I opened my eyes, and looked into the dark hole of the gun's end. The Lopez was not gazing at me, but was speaking in a low voice with a comrade.

He turned back to me.

"Levántate."

I didn't need to understand what he was saying to know what he wanted. Very carefully, I stood up, gently picking pieces of the window off of me.

"Podemos usarla," the Lopez said to his friend. My mind raced, trying to pick up the dregs of Spanish that I could remember. What had that meant? It had been so long since I'd spoken any Spanish at all…

"Ven con nosotros," the Lopez told me. Ven? Ven, ven, ven… come. Oh, shit…

"No," I mustered lamely, crossing my arms. I knew I wasn't in a position to argue, but I wasn't going to follow the orders of some stupid robot. "No—no want to. Shit. No… no quiero."

"No importa," the second Lopez told the first, who raised his gun at me again. "Cárgala."

The first Lopez shrugged and put away his gun. For a split second, I thought that they'd let me go back to the Reds, but before I could move, the Lopez grabbed me and hoisted me up over his shoulder.

"Get your hands off me, you dirty son of a bitch!" I screeched, punching the armor with my bare hands. As if that would do any good. "I—am—_not_—about to be kidnapped!"

"Sí eres," the Lopez laughed. "Cálmate, humano."

"Put me down!" I commanded. "Um—ahora! Ponga me con—uh, con my amigos!"

The Lopez simply continued chuckling and walked through the window, away from the Red base.

"No! Don't take me away!" I yelled, writhing around in the robot's grasp. I kicked any part of him I could find, only giving myself bruises. This just caused him to hold on to me more tightly. I could hardly breathe, much less get away from him.

I couldn't believe it. What a turn of events. For the first time in my career—in my life—I was weak. The kidnapee, instead of the kidnapper. What the _hell_.

The rage inside me bubbled dangerously.

"Bastardo," I spat. The Lopez chuckled.

"Tu Español es terrible," he commented.

I sighed. "I know. Listen. Don't do this, all right? Seriously. Just put me down. I don't want to have to disable you."

"No puedes hacer eso."

"Yes I can! I'm warning you, if you don't let go of me, I'll shut you off."

"Trátalo," he replied unconcernedly.

"Fine, I will." I looked down at his mechanical shoulder, wishing that my bluff had worked. The protruding wires must surely be important…

I began to pull at the cords. I tried to tear them off, bite them off, pull them apart. They wouldn't budge. I growled in frustration, giving up, while the Lopez laughed at me again.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked the Lopez rudely. Screw negotiations.

"Al jefe."

I rolled my eyes. Yeah… that definitely cleared things up.

I heard a radio crackle on, and warbled Spanish rang through. I tried to discern what was being said, but the orders came too fast for me to understand.

"Sí," affirmed the Lopez, clicking the radio off. He stopped walking and placed me on the ground, but didn't let go of me—an iron hand still wrapped around my wrist. With his other hand, he rummaged around on his utility belt for something.

"What's happening?" I asked him.

He didn't reply, but took out a spray can, holding it up to my face.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding m—"

He shot the spray into my face, and everything went black.


	17. Party Crashers, Part IV

A heavy fog drifted around me, and I couldn't think straight. All was dark.

_What just happened?_

The clouds slowly lifted, dissipating, leaving my eyesight clearer. As my eyes adjusted, I realized that the disappearing smoke hadn't been fog at all; it had been my returning consciousness. I blinked my eyes rapidly and shook my head, clearing my sight of the remaining mist. Stark sunlight invaded my vision, and I became aware of many things at once.

I was alone. It was still daytime, and I was sitting in a square room. I recognized it immediately.

"…Church?"

I was in his bedroom, stripped of almost everything. His clothes, armor, and weapons had been removed, leaving me nothing. An empty room. They had even stuck bars in the window outside the glass.

I looked down and groaned. I was still wearing the stupid, stupid bathing suit. I had no idea where the towel was—they had probably confiscated it when I'd passed out—but one thing was sure. I was freezing.

I heard a knock at the door. For a split second, I thought it might be Church, but I erased the thought from my mind as a Lopez walked in, a gun pointed directly at me. As if I'd be able to do anything in my swim suit.

"Yes?" I asked hesitantly.

"Puedes comprenderme?"

"Uh, what?"

The Lopez said nothing, but walked out of the room, locking the door behind him.

Minutes passed. What had that been about? I waited, almost falling asleep on the bed. I looked drearily over at the window and jolted upright.

"Sheila! What are you _doing?_"

The end of Sheila's turret was pointing directly through the window. I heard a faint sound through the glass… a gun's revving up.

Panicking, I slid under the bed and plugged my ears. A blast sounded through the room, shaking the furniture, and all was quiet.

I peeked out from under the bed and saw Sheila still standing at the window. The glass shattered—why all the freaking broken glass?—but the metal bars were still intact. I wasn't free.

"You're going to get me killed!" I yelled, halfway irritated, halfway hoping I'd hear a friendly voice reply.

Sheila laughed. "I am not trying to kill you. I am only trying to break the window."

"…And my ear drums, apparently," I replied frostily. "What's the meaning of this?"

"I am your translator. Your brain is obviously insufficient in comprehending standard Spanish, so I will make sure you understand all that you must."

I sighed. It wasn't a rescue mission.

"What do they want?"

Sheila paused. "I am not sure. They do not tell me anything. And I keep forgetting which one is my Lopez."

I sniggered inwardly. That's what she got for romancing a robot.

At that moment, another robot unlocked the door and stalked into the room.

I gasped. It was _Lopez_. He was holding that large sniper rifle and had an authoritative stance I'd never seen in a robot.

"Lopez!" I breathed, taking a chance. "Why are you doing this?"

He ignored me, saying something in Spanish to Sheila. She listened patiently until he was finished.

"You are to stay here for as long as required," Sheila said monotonously. "If things do not go as planned, then you will be disposed of. That is all."

Disposed of? I gulped nervously. "What do you mean, 'if things do not go as planned'?"

She translated my question, and the robot replied.

"You are part of a plan to terminate Blood Gulch once and for all," Sheila explained. "The Lopezes are on a mission to kill all the soldiers here, but they cannot get to the Reds' basement with all its security. The Reds escaped from them during the attack."

I laughed, and she paused, as though glaring at me. I snapped my mouth shut.

"Lopez has been watching, and he knows how to get the Reds and Blues to come out of hiding."

"Yeah?" I asked unconcernedly. Since the Reds had escaped from the Lopezes, there was no way the robots could barge through that iron padlocked door leading down into the basement.

"You will be the one to bring your friends to their deaths."

Dead silence.

"Wh—what?"

"Think about it, Agent. Who is the one person the Reds and Blues both care about? Who is the one they would both risk their lives to find?"

"No!" I gasped. I… I was the bait. The worm. The Reds and Blues would die trying to get to me. It would be all my fault. "Please! Don't do this!"

"It has already been done. There is nothing you can do to stop it."

Sheila laughed mechanically while Lopez left the room. I sat on the bed, stunned, trying not to tear up. Trying to be professional. Trying to think logically. I turned away from the tank, burning with frustration and guilt. There had to be a way to escape from this. There had to be.

I turned back to Sheila. "Sheila… aren't they your friends too? Come on, you used to be on the Blue team!"

She turned her turret away. "That was a long time ago."

"What about you and Caboose?" I retorted. This was dangerous, I knew, but she needed to have some sense knocked into her. "Didn't he mean anything to you?"

"Be quiet," she fumed, turning her turret back to me. "Do not force me to terminate you. I will if need be."

"No, you won't. The Lopezes want me alive… at least for now. You're not allowed to kill me."

"Silence!" she screeched. "Do not speak another word, human!"

I fell silent, but smiled. I'd gotten to her. At least I could mess with her mind.

A thought occurred to me. Perhaps I could force her to help me.

"Sheila…" I said slowly. "The Lopezes _do_ want me alive for now, right?"

"Yes, they do," she replied shortly.

"And you're in charge of keeping me alive, right?"

"Yes, I am."

"Well, how am I going to stay alive if I have no food—no fuel? How will I live if my core body temperature drops too much?"

Sheila was quiet for a moment. "You are cold and hungry, are you not?" she replied, not sounding amused.

Goosebumps rose on my skin, and my stomach grumbled, giving me away.

"You could have just said something," she said, irritated. "It is my job to keep you alive, and if that is what you require, then I must get it." She stopped. "Though I do think you humans are incessantly high-maintenance."

_She just had to get in that last little insult, didn't she?_ I thought as she rolled away, leaving me alone.

Finally, _alone._ I looked around the room wildly for anything I could use to escape. I hadn't lied—I was rather cold and hadn't had a chance to eat Donut's pies—but I'd forfeit whatever Sheila would bring me to get the hell out of there.

There was nothing in Church's closet. The bathroom had been stripped of everything except toilet paper. The robots had confiscated everything in and out of Church's dresser.

_These damn robots think of everything._

I was just about to check under the bed again when Sheila arrived again. She held some clothes slung over her turret and passed them through the bars and into the room. I pointed at one item of clothing in particular, unable to believe what I was seeing.

"Sheila, what the hell is this?"

"Why, I thought you liked that shirt," she said innocently.

I glowered. "You know perfectly well that this shirt isn't mine!"

"Well, your Blue friend seemed quite happy to see you wear it."

I sighed and picked up the aqua, button-up dress shirt. "Bitch."

"I try," she replied unconcernedly. "Take your clothing now. You are very ungrateful. I even put a package of motor oil in the pocket for your food."

"Thanks a shitload," I scowled. "Not only will I starve now, but I'm being humiliated. I appreciate it."

"My sarcasm meter is raging. Goodbye."

I turned away from the window as she rolled away, the pile of clothing in my arms. Thankfully, Tucker's dress shirt was the only article of clothing that wasn't mine, and I hurried into the bathroom to change. I would take his shirt over my bathing suit any day.

I emerged to a silent room a few minutes later, wearing some black bullet-proof pants—the Kevlar layer I wore underneath my armor—and the teal button-up. I was quite a spectacle. But I was ready for whatever would come.


	18. Party Crashers, Part V

The minutes passed. I watched the Lopezes outside patrol the area as they waited for any sign of non-brown armor.

I felt numb knowing there was nothing I could do. I looked down at the packet of oil that Sheila had given me as food—what good was it if I couldn't even use it to burn my way out of the cell? I cursed inwardly at the cement wall of the building. Maybe, if I poured the oil in front of the entrance, the next Lopez to walk in would slip and fall. If that were the only thing I could do, then I might as well take advantage it of it.

Before I had a chance to act, I heard the doorknob turn and unclick the lock of the door.

A Lopez strode into the cell, and I knew instantly that something was awry. The robot stood there, watching me curiously, cocking his head to one side. I raised an eyebrow.

"Aren't you a little short for a Lopez?"

The brown figure chuckled. "Very funny, Princess Leia. Why don't we get you out of here?"

"Tucker!" I gasped. "I can't believe it! They're expecting you!"

"We know, we know," came a voice from the hallway outside. I glanced to the hall, and saw another brown figure. Church. "Can we save the mushy stuff for later? We need to get our asses out of here!"

"But how?" I asked. "They'll see me instantly."

"Put these on," said Tucker. He held out metal handcuffs. "If anyone tries to stop us, we'll just say we're taking you to the head Lopez."

"In _Spanish?_"

They stopped and looked at each other sheepishly.  
"Just… just put them on, all right?"

"Okay, okay." I slipped them on while Tucker, after hesitating a moment, guiltily locked them. "Let's go."

We strode through the halls nervously, trying to escape from our own home. We passed Lopez after Lopez, each one hardly even glancing our way. My heart thumped madly in my chest, and my breathing was fast. I was terrified of being found out, but perhaps I only looked like a nervous captive to the Lopezes. We strode along from hallway to hallway, Tucker pulling my handcuffs as we went along.

"Now, tell me," began Tucker when we were alone, and I could almost hear the smile in his voice. "Why exactly did you request such a… specific… change of clothes?"

I rolled my eyes. "You really think this was my doing? Sheila was having fun teasing me. As if I weren't already humiliated—I was kidnapped in my bathing suit and locked in my own home!"

"Well, you don't seem to be too upset about wearing it."

"Maybe you're the one who isn't too upset about it."

Our conversation was halted as a throng of Lopezes marched by.

"How did you guys pull this off? The rescue, I mean," I whispered when we were alone.

"We found some extra Lopez shells in the basement," replied Church in a low voice. "We figured Lopez just stuffed them in there when he couldn't find more motors. Caboose, Tucker and I put them on and decided to sneak over here and get you. Caboose is still back at Red base helping the others ward off the other Lopezes. They're starting to break into the basement."

"Oh, no…" I moaned. "What if they find us out? Their entire plan was—"

"—To kill us, yeah," interrupted Tucker. "Why else would they kidnap you? For the fun of it? They knew we'd all work together and try to find you."

We reached the entrance of the base quietly and slipped outside.

"Paran."

We froze. The entire robot army stood outside, facing us, guns all pointed in our direction.

"I really hope your Spanish is good…" I muttered under my breath.

"Que estan haciendo?" A Lopez called to us. I looked toward the Blues hesitantly.

"Uh…" Church began. "Hola… amigo. Que… pasa?"

"No hagan nada," a voice called from behind us.

Lopez—the real Lopez—strode out of the base, turning to face us once outside.

"Idiotas," he said. "Sheila! Ven aquí!"

Sheila rolled into view. "Sí?"

He then said something to her, and I knew. I knew that he realized who Church and Tucker were.

"They know you are the Blues," said Sheila. "Do not try to resist."

Tucker inhaled sharply, gripping my manacles tightly. "How did you find out?" he asked loudly.

Sheila waited for Lopez's reply and then spoke to us. "It was all thanks to the both of you," she said smugly. "Your statures are not like the rest of the Lopezes. Your heights gave you away."

I smacked a palm to my forehead. Awesome.

At that moment, I heard yelling and cursing across the clearing. I gasped as three soldiers in red were dragged to Blue base by more Lopezes.

"Let go of me, you turd-faced bastards!" growled Sarge as they resisted the robots' grasps.

"Oh, God," I breathed. "They captured the Reds!"

Lopez spoke to Sheila in a low voice, and my stomach flipped, almost guessing what would happen next.

"You are all now to be terminated," said Sheila emotionlessly.

The Lopezes shoved us forward, standing in a line in front of Sheila.

"Lopez has given me the honor of killing you," she told us mercilessly. "Prepare to die."

I looked at the others, who were staring at me, silent. _I'm sorry_, I thought to them. The familiar sound of Sheila's starting up reverberated across the canyon, and she rotated her turret in our direction.

We stood together, hands behind backs, trying to send each other messages we couldn't speak aloud. I saw Sarge, his jaw set, still stubborn. Grif was shaking, but his face was defiant. Simmons stared at me, afraid but accepting. Church looked irritated, but at the same time, he stood straight, facing whatever would come. I looked at Tucker last. I could hardly see his face through the helmet, but I could just make out his wide, pleading eyes. What was he trying to tell me?

_I didn't mean for this to happen,_ I told them in my mind. Sheila's gun was loaded. _I'm so—_

"UNA MOMENTO!"

A brown robot hurtled into view, staggering into the clearing between us and Sheila. I stared at the Lopez strangely. Had it gone mad? The others glared at it as well, too shocked to make any action.

"Por… fay-vor…" it stopped, panting, then stood up straight. It looked around, and when it saw we were all staring at it silently, it made a faint squeak. "Uhh…"

There was a moment of silence as the robot looked around. Finally, it reached up and ripped off its helmet in one swoop. The entire audience gasped. We groaned while the Lopezes laughed.

It was Caboose.

"What the hell is he doing?" Chuch exclaimed.

"Sheeeeeilaaaa!" cried Caboose, walking up to the tank with no fear. _Please, please don't shoot him._ "I missed you! Look, look what I brought you for after the rescue!"

He handed her a muffin decorated with blue and red sugar on top. Sheila was silent, and I held my breath.

"Hi everyone!" he waved at us cheerily. "This is a fun rescue!"

"Sufficiente!" boomed Lopez, enraged. He still stood near the entrance of the base. "Sheila! _Despáralos!"_

I twitched, recognizing the command. _Shoot them._

Sheila still waited there, frozen. She pointed her turret at the muffin, as though studying it. Then, she raised the gun to Caboose, and my heart stopped. After what seemed like an eternity, she pointed the turret up, passing us and resting on Lopez.

"No."

My eyes widened, and the entire army turned to Lopez. He stood still, staring at the lover who had betrayed him. There was a silence.

"Como quieras," he finally said, seething with controlled fury. "Yo voy a hacerlo."

Lopez raised the sniper at us, and my heart sank. He would do it himself.

Hearing the heart-shuddering blast, I tensed my entire body, squeezing my eyes shut. The shot had been fired. But… was this death? There was no pain…

I opened my eyes slowly and realized that Lopez hadn't shot his gun.

Sheila had.

Lopez's body convulsed violently, shaking in crazed, mechanical motions. Sparks flew from his metal figure as he continued to seize, shaking with sickening pops in his armor. A low humming grew to a high screech as he continued to vibrate, and the sound became unbearable…

He exploded.

Fiery shards of brown armor sprayed all over the Blue base's lawn, showering us with sparks.

I panicked, looking at the other Lopezes tensely. They wouldn't be happy about this.

I never found out what the robots thought about Lopez's explosion—they were all shaking in a similar way that Lopez had, but instead of bursting into flames, their humming simply died down, all their armor lights fading peacefully.

They were dead.

Sheila calmly rolled over to the fire and turned her turret into a large fire extinguisher, spraying a stream of white foam on the flames that had replaced Lopez's entity.

When the last of the fire had been killed, we looked around. Now, truly, were there robot shells, still smelling of hot metal and blown fuses.

"Good God," murmured Simmons finally, running a hand over one of the still Lopezes. "They were all connected to Lopez through radio waves. That's how he must have controlled them. Then, if he died… they all did."

I walked up to the pile of gnarled metal that used to be the faithful, Spanish-speaking robot. Sheila still stood before it, pointing her turret down sadly.

"Sheila," I said quietly. "Tha—thank you."

She ignored my comment. "Where is Caboose?"

I stepped back and Caboose approached her, smiling bashfully like a schoolboy.

"Hello, Sheila," he said, blushing. "Did… did you like my muffin?"

She laughed—a mechanical, yet pleasant sound—and turned her turret toward him.

"It was a very nice gift," she replied. The muffin still lay beside the gun. "Thank you."

Caboose lit up. "You're welcome!" he said excitedly, and began to jabber about everything that had happened over the day.

I sighed with a smile and began to help the others clean up. "Hey, guys?" I called. "Can someone help me out with these handcuffs?"

"Oh, I don't know..." called Tucker from the other side of the clearing. "It's a good look on you."

I glared at him while Simmons strode up, ostentatiously and ceremoniously freeing me. He smiled proudly after doing so, while I smiled evilly, getting an idea.

"Thank you, Simmons!" I said, flamboyantly happy. I took off his helmet and planted a loud kiss on his cheek. "How noble of you!"

I turned away, looking at Tucker just briefly enough to see his face turn a shade of green.


	19. International Affairs, Part I

My radio clicked to life for the first time in days. I frowned and checked the date perplexedly. I still had quite a while left at Blood Gulch—why was Command contacting me now?

I excused myself from the kitchen and hurried outside where I wouldn't be overheard.

"Agent 11."

"Outpost?"

"Blood Gulch."

"Copy."

The line went fuzzy for a moment, but then a voice crackled to life on the other end.

"Agent 11, this is Command. We have another assignment for you."

"I'm already occupied," I replied shortly. "You'll have to find another Agent."

"Sorry, but you are being specifically requested."

My frown deepened. "Who is this? Do you have the authorization to strip me of my mission?"

The line was silent for a moment. Then—

"Eleven, it's Wash."

"Wash?" I asked, confused. "You're working for Command?"

"Yeah, it's a long story," he replied. "I got in some trouble during Recovery One, and to get me out of it, I've gotta work with Command for a while."

"Dang… you'll have to tell me about it. I haven't heard from you in a while."

"Tell me about it. Listen, we really need you for this mission. You can get back to Blood Gulch afterward—it'll only take one night—but it's important that you come."

"What's going on? Something bad?"

"Yeah. Some other defected Freelancers, Agents and I went undercover and found out there's a plan to assassinate the Chief of Directorate of Intelligence."

I gasped. "James Hale? My boss?"

"That's the one."

"Who's trying to murder him?"

"That's the thing. We don't know. But we need the help of all the top Agents to protect Hale and bring the assassin down."

"Just tell we where I need to be and when."

Wash chuckled on the other end of the line. "You'll find that out soon enough. You'll get a special delivery from the Deep Space Mail Service today."

"Seriously? Why don't you just tell me what it is?"

"Listen, Eleven," Wash said seriously. "I know you well enough to know that once you get this piece of mail, you're going to regret agreeing to the mission."

I sighed. "Wonderful. You're really quite good at keeping my expectations low."

Wash let out another low laugh. "Except in your taste in men."

"_Especially_ in my taste in men," I muttered. "Get out of here, Wash. I suppose I'll see you soon."

"Yeah, you will," he replied. "Oh, and one more thing," he began slyly. "I picked it out myself."

The line was all static noise again. I strode back inside the base, trying to hide the puzzled look plastered on my face.

"What's up?" asked Church as I walked back inside. "You look weird."

"Is that any different than usual?" Tucker asked innocently. I glared at him, and he sniggered.

"I'm fine," I said, trying to pretend I was. "I'm just going to have to leave for a couple days."

"You are leaving?" asked Caboose, aghast. "But we haven't celebrated Lopez's explosion yet!"

The others looked at me, silently agreeing with Caboose. "Where are you going?" asked Church.

"I actually don't know," I admitted. "I'll find out soon."

At that moment, I heard a knock at the door. _That was fast._

An envelope lay in the doorway, and I saw a small ship labeled DSMS flying off.

I ran to my room amid protests from the Blues, locking myself in. The envelope was covered with strange, curly writing and the return address was from… Australia. The note read:

_You are cordially invited to the_

_76__th__ Annual Black-and-White United Nations Space Command Ball_

_commemorating the work of the most prestigious UNSC leaders_

_Location: The Sydney Opera House, Sydney, Australia, Earth (Sector 41)_

_Dress: Black tie and very formal. All attire must be in black or white or both._

They were shitting me.

I couldn't believe it. I wouldn't believe it. There was no possible way that Command held a fricking ball. The corniness of the idea was overwhelming. And… at an opera house? In Australia? I couldn't go all the way back to Earth now! Where the hell would I get a black or white dress anyway? I would have laughed if I hadn't been so… at a loss for words.

I grabbed the envelope again, and this time, another slip of paper fell out. I grabbed it, praying it would say something like, "just kidding!"

It didn't.

_Agent 11,_

_I presume Agent Washington has already informed you of the basics of this mission. All the arrangements are made. The day of the ball, you will go through the North portal at 8:00 and be taken to a private CIA plane hangar. There, you'll be given a private ship and formal attire, and then you will be transported directly to the event._

_These are orders._

_James Hale, Chief of Directorate of Intelligence, CIA_

I recognized his signature and official seal. This wasn't a hoax.

I, a no-nonsense CIA Agent, was going to a ball. Just when I thought my life couldn't get weirder.

* * *

A few days later, I bid goodbye to the protesting Reds and Blues. They were dying to know where I was going, but I just couldn't tell them. The woes of working in the CIA.

I promised them I would be back soon as I stepped through the portal, halfway expecting it to spit me back out in Blood Gulch. However, when I stepped into a steel plane hangar, I disappointedly realized that Simmons had fixed the portal properly. I supposed he was good for something.

"Right this way, Agent 11." A portly flight attendant walked up to me, his mustache bristled and gray. "The items you need for tonight are already on the ship. You may get ready there while we head to Earth. I'm afraid it will be a bit of a long flight, but we'll take portals when we can."

"Thank you," I said politely, a little embarrassed of how I must have looked to this well-dressed little attendant. After spending so much time with a bunch of boys, I'd felt as if I didn't really need to take care of my appearance; I'd become one of them. Except to Simmons, perhaps.

I climbed on the ship and sighed with annoyance at the inside of it—were such measures really necessary? It was excessively luxurious and made me squirm with discomfort. Four leather seats were propped casually near the windows, and bottles of wine lay invitingly on the tables. I ignored everything and headed straight to a curtain near the back which led to a tiny bedroom. I looked to the bed and my eyes widened.

A long dress lay on the bed, and there was so much material that I could hardly see the bed underneath. I decided not to judge it until I had tried it on, but I had a bad feeling about this.

I was right. Half an hour later, I had squeezed into the dress and made my way over to the full-length mirror. I took one look at myself and rolled my eyes.

The dress was full-length and completely black. A line of silver diamonds began at the neckline and dripped in sparkles toward the floor, tapering out in a glittering trail that was lost in the folds of fabric that made up the skirt. The top was strapless and much more low-cut than I would have preferred, with a corset underneath, pinching my waist to a point much smaller than it should have been.

Wash's words rang in my ears annoyingly. _I picked it out myself._

Typical. I would get him back for this, I decided. I could barely inhale.

After hunting around in my room for a while, I found the matching strappy black high heels which were way too high to function in—probably Wash's doing again—and my jewelry lay in velvet cases in the bathroom. I was to dress in a diamond necklace and earrings to match the dress's silver lining.

The things I did to keep my job…

I was so used to throwing my hair in a ponytail in the mornings. The last time I'd worn real makeup with lipstick and blush and foundation had been… I didn't even know. When we'd gone to the bar, maybe.

I fooled with my hair for a while, finally managing to wrestle it into a wavy bun and placing enough makeup on to make myself look presentable. I stepped out of the bathroom just as the flight attendant called for me, letting me know that we were landing.

I sighed and sat down. The heels were already killing me. What a night this would be.


	20. International Affairs, Part II

I strode rather nervously into the enormous ballroom. The golden walls were lit with candles and a large chandelier hung directly above, its crystals sparkling happily. I looked around and gulped anxiously, all the while inwardly chastising myself for my silliness. I had temporarily joined the army, played hooky, fought evil robots, and reconciled two enemies (for the time being, anyway)… but was nervous walking through a ballroom in high heels.

There was definitely something wrong with me.

As per the flight attendant's last-minute directions, I settled myself at the far end of the room beside large Doric columns, watching the scene critically.

I could hardly make out one person from another in the throng that made up the guest body. I had never seen so many tuxedos or dresses in my entire life, and the swirling patterns of black and white were making me dizzy. I couldn't help missing the brightness of the colors back at Blood Gulch.

"Well, what do we have here?"

I spun around to see a tall man dressed in an impeccable black suit with a white shirt peeking out and a matching dark vest and tie. His hair hung jauntily in his face as he leaned against one of the columns.

"Hey, Wash."

He approached me and stopped about a foot away, crossing his arms confidently.

"Looks like you clean up pretty nice, don't you?" he asked, giving me an appraising stare.

"Always the professional one," I muttered.

He chuckled. "I'm just admiring the dress I chose for you. You should be thanking me. It looks… hmm. Looks just the way I imagined." He grinned. "But I don't think it's quite low-cut enough."

I looked down at myself and rolled my eyes. "You're disgusting. Aren't you going to give me my job now?"

"Well…" he paused a moment, looking me up and down. "All right. I've had my fill." I shuddered, but he seemed to be enjoying my discomfort. "Since Hale's about to get murdered, we've gotta keep an eye out. You know, any suspicious movement. Weapons. That sort of thing. We've got quite a few people on the patrol tonight. We need you, though, because you're the head of Affairs and would be able to negotiate with whoever—or whatever—shows up."

I sighed. "Sounds like a plan. But how do we keep in touch?"

"With these." Wash pulled out a small earpiece and a remote and handed it to me. "Put it in your ear and we'll be able to speak to each other. Keep the remote on you somewhere and when you need to talk to me, press it and hold it down. Then I'll be able to hear you. All clear?"

I stuck the earpiece in my ear. "Yeah. Ready to go."

We bid goodbye and headed to opposite sides of the room. I hid the remote in a pocket-sized fold of fabric in my dress, probably placed there on request of Wash. I watched the dancing crowds warily, keeping an especially close eye on a thin figure in a gray suit—James Hale.

"Eleven," said a voice in my ear.

"What is it, Wash?"

"You'll be able to recognize the other members of the patrol by their earpieces. They're just big enough to be noticeable, so let any of them know if you see anything out of the ordinary. They'll be on it. Because your high heels aren't gonna help you bring down the bad guys."

"No thanks to you," I grumbled.

"Come on. You can't deny that I got you looking damn fine. I just don't get why you won't date me already."

"We are not having this conversation right now!" I said severely, causing several dancers to look over at me confusedly. I reddened and lowered my voice. "We're on a mission!"

"Aw, you're blushing. That's cute."

"Shut up."

"But seriously, just go out with me already."

"Yeah, because that worked out so well the last time."

"No reason we can't try again."

"Wash, just… just shut up. I said no and that's final. Now pay attention to the damn mission."

The other line went blank and I gave a sigh of relief. There was no way in hell I was getting involved again with that overconfident, self-righteous, pervert of a Freelancer. Where was Donut where you needed him?

I looked around, resuming my patrol, and a shock went through my body. A tall figure strode toward me, donning an outrageous black-and-white suit. He looked like a checkerboard as he advanced, grinning merrily.

"D—Donut!" I gasped.

He smiled broadly. "Hey, Ells! I've been looking for you!"

"You—I—" I spluttered, gazing at his contrasting outfit. "What in the world are you doing here?"

"We got invitations to this thing right after you left!" he beamed, adjusting a horrible sparkly tie. "It's no surprise you were leaving to come here too. Why would all your makeup and stuff be gone when you left?"

"Wow. Thanks for raiding the bathroom."

He giggled. "It was fun. I actually stole your hair straightener for this occasion."

I raised an eyebrow. "Are all of you here? What about the Blues?"

"Yeah, we're all around here somewhere," Donut continued. "Wanna dance?"

I laughed. "Sure. Especially in the present company."

He took my arm and we walked to the dance floor. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"It'll look less obvious to the guests as to why I'm here," I explained. "I'm on the team to protect James Hale from assassination." He nodded soberly and I added quietly, "Plus, my psychotic ex is here."

"Ooooh…" Donut replied, lighting up as we began to dance. "Who is he? Where?"

"You probably don't know him. He was a Freelancer. His name is Washington."

Donut yelped. "Wash? You dated Wash?"

"Shhh!" I whispered fiercely. "How do you know him?"

"Let's just say we met during the fiasco at Blood Gulch," he muttered.

"Lovely. So you're aware of his humble disposition then."

Donut sniggered, but the music became louder and faster and we spun in crazy circles, unable to talk through the noise. Then, the lights became darker and I could hardly see Donut's face anymore. I laughed as we jostled through the crowd, at a few points accidentally letting go of each other. By the end of the song, the lights came back up, and I laughed, sweating slightly, staring into Donut's face.

Which wasn't his face at all anymore.

"Simmons!" I gasped. "Crap, I—I'm sorry, uh…"

Somehow, during the dance, Donut had disappeared, and I caught him standing, ruffled and disoriented, at the other side of the dance floor. I knew he wouldn't be able to see me from where I was, but I stared at him, willing him to look my way. He didn't.

"Eleven," said Simmons. He was wearing a rather boring suit and a spotted tie. "I haven't seen you all night. How are you doing?"

He wrapped his hands around my waist and I stiffened. "Um, fine, uh, how did you get here?"

"Well, it was dark, and I was just dancing, but then I just sort of found myself dancing with you."

I had no idea whether to believe him or not.

"Well, that's great. The song's over now, so—" I tried to disentangle myself from his arms, but he wouldn't let go.

"Oh, come on, Eleven," he pleaded. "Just… just dance with me one time, okay?"

He looked down at me with large eyes and I sighed.

"Okay, Simmons. Just once."

Unfortunately, the next song was slow, so I had to let him gaze at me without getting away. The song seemed to drag on forever. We spoke on and off throughout the song, but I continually looked around for a way to escape, trying to convince myself I was just checking up on Hale. Donut was nowhere to be found, and Simmons slowly pulled me closer and closer to him.

In what he must have thought was the climax of the song, he lifted my chin up to look at him.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit,_ I thought as he drew my head closer to his. I tensed my body and was about to kick him where it hurts, but a voice interrupted his daydream.

"Excuse me?"

I looked around to see another familiar face. Tucker was smiling at us. "May I continue this dance, please?"

"I… uh…" Simmons contemplated, disappointment lining his face. "Well… yeah. Okay."

I peeled myself away from him as he ambled away dejectedly. "Holy shit, Tucker, thank you so much," I said, slipping myself into his arms instead. He was dressed all in white, from his shoes to his tailcoat tuxedo to his bowtie. "You have no idea how much his balls were going to hurt."

"Oh, and I thought I was saving _you_," he remarked, smiling. "Could you have been any stiffer? You were like a freakin' corpse."

"You would be too, if you had to dance with him."

"Aw, give the poor guy a chance. He's probably still a virgin."

"Very funny. You think I'd be the remedy to that problem?"

"Not a chance. I just wanted to let him have that opportunity at all in the future. You looked like you were seriously gonna kill his future children."

"I was," I replied. "It was going to be a massacre."

He laughed. "Wanna go get a drink?"

"Do I ever."

We headed over to the bar and sat down. Tucker ordered two drinks and we sat there for a moment, sipping them quietly.

I looked at him a moment and laughed, shaking my head. "I'm not even going to ask why you guys came."

"Why not?" he asked, draining his glass. "We're on vacation, after all."

"Yeah, but this really isn't your type of thing, is it?"

"Who knows? I don't even know why we were invited. This thing looks like a pretty high-end party."

I frowned, realizing that for the first time. Looking back to the dance floor, I saw that all other guests were the ranks of Lieutenant, General, or other high-ranking posts. There were no other privates.

Why were the Reds and Blues here?


	21. International Affairs, Part III

"Something's not right."

I pressed the button connected to my microphone, resolving to speak to Wash only as much as I needed.

"Hey, Eleven, I was just going to contact you," said Wash in my ear. "I just saw your guys here. The Reds and Blues. You know anything about this?"

I glanced at the dance floor and saw Donut and Caboose dancing crazily to the now-upbeat song, crashing into other guests. I rolled my eyes.

"No. I was just as surprised as you are to see them here. But I think they could help with the mission. They've been through crap before—you of all people know that—so why don't we get them connected with a couple of earpieces so they can talk to us too?"

"Sounds like a plan. It's a bit unorthodox, but what the hell. I don't want it on our hands if Hale gets nuked and there could have been others around here to help."

I clicked off the earpiece and turned to Tucker, who was watching me curiously.

"We're going to get you guys to help us out. There's been a rumored assassin for James Hale and we're on the patrol. So we'll get you and the rest of the group hooked up to these walkie-talkie things so you can communicate with us. Can you go round up the other Blues? I need to find the Reds."

Tucker nodded soberly and departed, while I slowly found the Reds. It wasn't easy. I had to continuously remind myself not to look for shades of red, but actual faces. Donut was the easiest, sticking out in his wild checkerboard suit. I then tracked down Sarge, who was rather bored and drinking a cup of gin with gusto, though it was the first time I had ever seen him… clean. I finally found Simmons later, standing sullenly next to the musicians. I dragged him away from the music.

"What the hell, Eleven…" he gasped as I brought him back over to the bar area.

"Come on, we need to take care of a couple things."

He frowned and resisted. "No way. You just, like, rejected me. Why should I do anything you say?"

I stopped, looking back at him incredulously. "Seriously, Simmons? You're acting like a damn four-year-old. This is business."

"I don't care."

I sighed in resignation. Was this really the way it was going to be? "Simmons, we really need your help with this… _I_ really need your help."

He looked back at me, eyes wide. "Fine, fine, fine. But only because it's you."

I preferred not to read into this comment as we reached the bar area. All the soldiers were present, including Wash.

"All right, everyone, listen up," I said as Wash handed out the earpieces. "Use these and their remotes to communicate with us. Watch out for any suspicious movement, especially around Hale. Someone might be planning on attacking him. Just be wary."

The earpieces were placed in correctly (after a few tries from Caboose) and they set off in different directions. I sighed and sank back into a chair near the bar. These heels were going to kill me.

"Eleven," said Sarge, approaching me. "I was gonna go and watch Hale from the dance floor, but it would look awkward as hell without a dance partner. Why don't ya come with me so we can just blend in? It's like fancy camouflage."

I laughed. "Good idea, Sarge. I was just doing that with Donut and Simmons. Seemed to work out well… ish. Though I must say I don't think you're quite the ballroom-dancing type."

"Guess we're about to find out."  
We rocked slowly back and forth on the dance floor—nothing complicated, or we would have both made fools of ourselves—and took to watching the other guests.

Nothing really seemed out of the ordinary. The throng of black and white spun slowly, every woman's skirt swooshing with a rustle. The music played. Gentle laughter rippled around the room as glasses clinked. Hale was dancing contentedly with who I supposed was his wife, a tall, mousy-haired lady wearing an elegant white dress.

"You see Hale?" I asked quietly as they danced behind me.

Sarge peered discreetly over my shoulder. "Yeah."

"Doesn't he look comfortable? Not at all suspecting of a murder."

"Yeah, I know. It's not normal."

The dancers flew in faster and faster circles to the music, dizzying me. It all seemed so surreal. After days of adjusting my eyes to the various shades of red and blue, the monotony of the blacks and whites didn't seem right. Didn't feel right.

As the dance continued, I realized just what a predicament I had gotten myself into. I was being pinched and squeezed in a corset, dancing with a drill Sargeant in a colorless sea of classical music. There was no end to the madness. No wonder I had been jumpy.

"I don't know…" I thought aloud after a few minutes of silence. Nothing seemed out of order, for the situation, at least. "This really seems to be a pretty tranquil party. I don't understand what made Wash and the others think that Hale would be in such danger. I think I'm going to let him know everything's fine."

I reached into my pocket and clicked the remote.

"Hey, Wash, nothing's wrong here. Have you seen anything?"

Silence.

"Wash?"

I brought my finger to my ear and realized the earpiece had fallen out.

"Shit," I muttered, glancing down at the dance floor. "Sarge, my earpiece fell out. Do you see it? Maybe you should call Wash."

I looked toward the ground again, expecting an answer from the Red.

None came.

"Sarge…" I glanced back over at his face, and my stomach clenched in shock. His eyes were glazed over with terror, his mouth forming words, though no sounds came out. "Sarge?"

I spun around to see what he was staring at and my heart stopped as a flash of white ran toward me at full speed. I gasped and stumbled out of the way, missing the streak by inches. I thought the person might turn around and head back for me and Sarge, but it continued straight, hurtling toward the regal couple that had just been behind us.

"HALE!" I screamed. The head of the CIA had only one second to look up before the white figure leaped on top of him, bringing him down to the floor. The group of dancers scattered confusedly, skittering out of the way and crashing into the musicians. The attacker knelt down at Hale and struck violently, punching him over and over again. Hale's face streamed blood and the attacker paused, bringing a gun out of his belt and clicking it menacingly at his victim.

"Get out of the way!" I yelled, kicking off my heels and running at the duo. I lunged at the assassin, rolling him off Hale as a sickening bang resounded from the gun. I heard the bullet stick in the ceiling with a sharp crack, but before I could breathe the sigh of relief, the assassin rotated away, crawling on his hands and knees toward the confused crowd of dancers.

"Oh no you don't," I growled, grabbing his ankle. The figure stopped and turned, throwing a punch at the side of my head as he did so, smacking me dead on. I fell back to the ground with my vision popping stars, but before I could get back to the attacker, he kneeled on top of me, reloading the gun, and I saw his face for the first time though my sparkling vision.

I would have recognized the once-again bloodied scar running like a crescent moon beneath his eye anywhere.

It was Tucker.


	22. International Affairs, Part IV

(To anyone who is following this story, thank you so much! You've no idea how much I appreciate the support. A special thanks to my reviewers: archangel 52, Ann Incorporated, darklaughter, Martienne, Emshadow1, SPARTANXIII, sirensaredeadly, Sergeant Dreamer, ikeepitprivate, Leonineus, Pageturner94, Hawk531, fergie20, starfreak, Keely Matthews, N578 halo reach lover, and Project Phoenix Agent 003. The reviews are really what inspire me and keep me writing. Please continue to leave comments! I know you are all out there. ;] All right. On with the story!)

* * *

"No… what the fu… Tucker…" I gasped, hardly able to muster the words. His knees pressed into my ribcage, squeezing the breath from my lungs. Or was it just the shock?

"Shut up," he spat, his voice dark and rasping as he made more adjustments to his gun. His delicately curved scar slowly leaked blood, flecks spattering gently on my dress and staining his perfectly white tuxedo. Why wouldn't the others come? Wash, the Reds, the Blues? The rest of the bodyguards?

Time seemed to slow down. I gazed at the face I knew so well, with his tousled hair and usually happy demeanor. His face was that of a stranger, twisted into a grim sneer of menace. Against my will, my mind ran like a broken record back over all the days we had hung out.

How many times had he saved me from Simmons? He had risked his life to get me away from the Lopezes. All the movies and jokes and conversations spun rapidly in my mind as I gazed, transfixed, at the friend I didn't even recognize.

Unable to bear seeing him anymore, I looked past the panicking crowd of dancers to the back walls of the large room. Shocked, I recognized the faces of every single Red and Blue soldier watching us silently as they lined the wall, their stances confident and hands behind their backs. They watched Tucker prepare to kill me, utterly emotionless. Their faces almost melded together as one in my mind, each façade a mixture of resentment, revenge and malice.

My mind reeled. It wasn't just Tucker. They were all in on the plan. Even the bodyguards and Wash simply watched me.

I was completely alone.

Tucker's gun made one last foreboding clack of finality and he pointed it at me, chuckling evilly. I didn't know him anymore. He was a stranger.

It was time to take action.

Just as he placed his finger on the trigger, I reached up and grabbed his wrist, twisting it with all my strength toward the ground next to me. The second bang shuddered through the room, its bullet fracturing the perfect wood of the dance floor.

"No!" gasped Tucker as I continued to bend his wrist forcefully. I grabbed a hold of his arm and wrenched him off of me, rolling around so I was then on top of him. I pinned his arms to his sides using my knees and raised my fist up to drive it into his face.

Unable to watch myself to it, I closed my eyes and brought my fist down on his cheek, remembering with a pang that I had done so only once before for some childish reason I could not even recall.

I continued to hit every inch of him I could find. My eyes streamed tears as forcefully as his scar streamed blood, but I couldn't bear to look at him.

"You—you were my friend!" I gasped. His face and chest bruised, I staggered back and stole his gun, standing up at the level of the rest of the Reds and Blues. At Wash. Tucker lay on the ground, moaning and clutching his scar. "You all were!" I screamed at the rest of them. "How could you do this? I—I trusted you!"

They said nothing but began to advance, bringing out their weapons as well. There were so many of them… the Reds. Blues. Wash. The bodyguards. There was no way I could stand up to them alone. I ducked through the crowd and found Hale, who was sitting up groggily, but didn't seem too hurt.

"Mr. Hale!" I said. "Come on, we need to get out of here! You're in danger!"

He nodded and stood up shakily, following me as I snuck through the crowd. There needed to be a means of escape. The first hole in the crowd led straight to Grif and Caboose, who were both searching desperately for me. I reeled back, clutching Hale, searching for another escape route.

After a few more tries, I finally found an unoccupied exit leading to a dark hallway. I whispered to Hale to follow me, and, after counting to three, we ran to the hallway, not stopping to see if anyone had seen us. To my relief, I heard no footsteps behind us and I dragged Hale to the bathroom, locking the door behind us. It wouldn't stand up to gunfire, but it would hold for now.

I panted, looking back at my boss. "Are you all right, sir?"

He sank to the floor, clutching his arm. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. My arm is broken, but other than that, I'm all right. But my wife—I don't know about my wife."

"I'm sure she's fine," I assured him without any clue if it were true. "She knows how to take care of herself."

"Who were those men? I thought I had some protection over here!"

"They were your guards. Traitors," I spat bitterly.

Hale sighed. "Unbelievable. The moment you think you have things up and running in the CIA, it all goes to hell."

I put a finger to my temple. "Listen, I need to go out and scout for a way to get out of here. Stay here, and make sure it's completely locked. Do you have a gun?"

"Yes, I always carry one on me."

"Good." I tried not to think about how odd it was to order my own superior around, but he seemed complacent enough. "I'm so sorry this had to happen, Mr. Hale. I… I feel like a failure."

"Don't," he replied severely. "It isn't your fault. This is the CIA."

I dropped my head. "Even CIA agents can feel shame."

Without another word, I left the bathroom, locking it securely behind me. This was my fault. I had given the Reds and Blues exactly what they needed to plan an attack. I had given them access to weapons, radio communication, and other cronies to help them do the job.

I had given them my trust.


	23. International Affairs, Part V

The outside hallway was dark and silent, lit only by the entrance to the ballroom at the end of the passage. I crept through the darkness, praying that there would be an exit somewhere along the way. I passed countless locked doors, but not one clue led to the sanctuary of an exit.

"Eleven."

I spun around, held my gun up menacingly to the intruder and my heart wobbled dangerously.

"Tucker," I growled. His scar had healed over somewhat, the blood clotted to a neat brown line below his eye. I could see his face was bruised purple where I had railed him. His white suit was still stained with brown flecks, but there was something different about him. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't blast your brain out right now."

"No…" he stopped his advance, lifting his arms in surrender. "Please don't shoot. It's me."

"Yeah, that's exactly right. It is you," I replied coldly, aiming the gun at his forehead. "You still haven't given me a reason."

"Eleven," he began. He stepped closer to me, and I saw his eyes were wide and anxious, staring deep into mine. His voice had lost its harshness, his face no longer contorted in rage. He sighed. "Is this a good enough reason?"

He took out something small and black from his pocket, rolling it toward me. I glanced down at it critically, recognizing it as a broken earpiece.

"What the hell is this?" I asked irritably.

"It's my earpiece," said Tucker quietly. "When I attacked Hale, were you wearing one?"

"No, mine fell out," I replied, annoyed. "But so what? This isn't going to stop me from killing you."

"Listen to me," he pleaded. "All the other guys in there—Church and Wash and Grif and the others—they are all still wearing functioning earpieces. They're still working to kill Hale and keep the other guests hostage."

"Wh… what are you talking about?"

"The earpieces! They're controlling the others!"

I stopped and my gun shook. I was silent for a moment. "Explain yourself."

Tucker took a deep breath and looked back to the entrance to the ballroom. "A few minutes after we had started the patrol using all the communicating stuff Wash gave us, something funny happened. Somebody who wasn't any of the bodyguards or soldiers started speaking to me in my head through the earpiece. It was an AI. Do you remember how we killed O'Malley all those months ago?"

"Yeah."

"Some other AIs were still alive and free." Tucker looked down. "When they discovered that Dr. Church was arrested and O'Malley killed, the AIs that were left decided to team up and murder Hale as revenge. We all know how they were able to transport from victim to victim through radios… and that's what they did."

"How do you know this?"

"You don't know what it's like to be controlled by an AI," replied Tucker sadly. "It's almost as if you're two people at the same time, but this stronger, more passionate urge controls you and makes you do whatever it wants. I knew who I was and what I was doing the whole time, but the AI controlled me—down to my thoughts, emotions, and every last action. Every last assassination attempt.

"I tried to reason with it in my head. I tried to get it to stop, but there was nothing I could do to control either my body or the AI. I was just this slave to its commands, even though I knew it was wrong. The AI told me all of that history to taunt me. It could read my thoughts and emotions, and knew I couldn't do anything about it. Now, the only reason why you and I are normal is because we aren't wearing the earpieces anymore."

"But how did they even get to this party? How did the AIs infect the earpieces?"

"My AI told me that too. It was a talker, gloating about how smart they all were. They knew that Wash had gone crazy before because of his AI and figured he would be the best target. They infiltrated the technology somehow and stored themselves in Wash's earpiece, hiding until he gave the rest of the communicators to everyone else. Once every AI had a different person to control, they started controlling us. And that's when I tried to murder Hale… and you.

"Now I'm free from the AI because, when you were punching me, you threw a blow to my ear and the earpiece broke into pieces. You throw a damn hard punch because I couldn't even muster up the energy to tell you I was me again after the communicator broke. I was just conscious enough to see where you went and followed you. And… here we are."

I was still silent for a moment, wondering whether I should believe him or not. Was he still the killer I had faced moments before? Tucker sank to the ground and buried his face in his hands. "I know I asked you not to shoot me, but maybe you should," he moaned. "I wouldn't have been able to live with myself anyway if I had… had…" He shuddered. "If I had killed you."

He looked up at me with a tortured expression. "I'm so sorry, Ells."

_Ells._

No assassin, no murderer, no AI would have called me that.

"Oh, Tucker," I breathed, collapsing to the ground beside him. "You aren't lying."

Tucker lifted his head from his hands, gazing back at me. He reached out his hand from the darkness, resting it an inch from my face, but then pulled away, looking down and flashing a half-smile.

"Come on," he said quietly, standing up and brushing himself off. "It's time to go and kick some AI ass."

He reached out a hand to me and I took it, standing up as well.

"All right. So… what's your plan of action?"

A loud crash resounded from the ballroom and we took off running down the hall toward the activity.

"Um, well, we're going to try not to die…"

"Lovely."

We reached the ballroom, where Grif had tipped over a large ice sculpture. Its crystalline structure was strewn all over the floor, and the soldier was laughing heartily with an evilness that gave me chills.

"Okay, so we need to either break or rip out their earpieces?" I asked.

"Right. A lot easier said than done. I wonder where we should start…"

The anxious crowd was tangled haphazardly in the middle of the room, and an occasional familiar face popped through the crowd. The Reds, Blues, bodyguards and Wash were all looking for us.

"Let's go back through the crowd," I whispered tentatively.

"That's where they're looking for us!"

"I know," I replied. "But the group of guests is big enough that we could hide in there and cause a small commotion without letting all the other guys know too."

"Are you sure?"

"No."

"Well then. Let's go."

I smiled at his feigned bravery as we took a chance, running back to the dance floor. No one seemed to notice us. The mix of protesting roars and scared screams greeted us as the guests demanded to be released. Wash seemed to be the leader of all the zombie soldiers, who simply followed his empty voice. They were transfixed.

"Okay," I turned to Tucker and we ducked below the heads of the people. "Let's split up. When you see one of our guys walking through this crowd looking for us, jump out at him and get that thing out of his ear. Just do it without making a scene. We can take on one guy at a time, but there's no way we'll get out alive if we let anyone else know we're in this group."

Tucker nodded in assent and headed off. _Please be safe._

I ducked back through the crowd, looking for any signs of a familiar face in the mix of black and white. After a few minutes of searching, I finally reached Simmons. His eyes were narrowed malevolently as he looked for me, and I had to hide behind a large lady's skirt in order to get close to him. I finally reached him and lunged. He turned to me to let out a yell, but before he could do so, I clapped a hand around his mouth and ripped out the earpiece. He toppled over backwards and I fell on top of him, straddling his chest.

Blinking rapidly, Simmons shook his head and saw me as if for the first time, wonder flashing across his eyes. He looked down and saw my position on top of him, and I could almost feel his heart beat faster.

"Eleven…" he breathed incredulously. "What…"

"Don't get any ideas," I cut him off roughly, though I was relieved he looked at me in admiration and not in hate. I rolled off him and stood him up quietly. "Don't speak too loudly or they'll hear you."

"Oh, my God," said Simmons, rubbing his temple fiercely. "That damned AI… it made me want to kill you! I would have never been able to forgive myself—"

"—If you had killed me. Yeah, I've heard that one before," I replied, an eyebrow raised. "Listen, you need to help me and Tucker get rid of the rest of those earpieces. Just do it one soldier at a time."

Simmons' jaw was set. "Yeah, I'm all over this one. Bastards." He crept off and disappeared in the crowd.

One down.

Slowly but surely, we succeeded in getting those communicators out of the ears of the others. After only five minutes, we had taken care of Donut, Sarge, and Caboose. Once they had snapped out of it, they split off into teams and broke earpieces belonging to Church, Grif and all the bodyguards. Only Wash was left.


	24. International Affairs, Part VI

I saw Wash wandering frantically around the edge of the crowd, speaking urgently in his earpiece. The AIs must have known what we were up to and all reconvened inside the single communicator. Poor guy.

I stooped low and approached Wash when his back was turned to me. I didn't know how much longer his psyche could handle so many personalities in one brain, so I took action.

Without hesitating, I shot out of the crowd at full speed, ramming Wash into the wall. In a daze, he spun around unsteadily, so I stuck my foot out and he crashed to the floor. I reached toward his ear frantically, but he shook his head and grasped my wrist tightly.

"Shit!" I looked to Wash's face and recognized the cold, assassin's indifference. He lifted me up off the ground and grabbed both my wrists in one of his hands, reaching inside his pocket for something. There was nothing inside his pocket I was going to stick around to see, so I thrust myself between his legs, sliding on the polished wooden dance floor and flipping Wash into a somersault. He crashed on the floor behind me, loosening his grip just enough so that I could wiggle away.

Turning my back to Wash, I decided call the Reds and Blues over for backup, even though they were busy sneaking the guests out the back door. I opened my mouth to yell for them, but a hand clapped over my mouth and I was silenced.

Wash's hostile façade gazed down at me icily as he held his palm over my mouth with one hand. I tried to rip myself away but he shoved me against the wall, pressing me against it. Immobile.

"An eye for an eye," he said throatily. With his free hand he held up a small black piece of electrical equipment. I recognized it immediately and began to struggle against his grasp, my scream still muffled in his hand. My eyes widened as I watched what was happening to me, completely powerless to prevent it.

Wash forcibly stuck the small earpiece in my ear.

…

…

…

Those damned Reds.

Blues.

They were nothing but scum.

They all deserved to die.

No! They were my friends! They—

They tried to murder me. No one got away with that. No one survives an attempted attack on Agent Eleven. No one.

"_Ah, welcome to the club_," I heard a voice in my ear say. "_We're excited to finally have a new brain to infect."_

Get—get out. Get out of my head. I don't want—

"_Yes you do. You want to kill them."_

...Who are you?

"_We are the conglomeration of all the remaining AIs the director made. We are the most powerful force in existence, and we will kill James Hale for arresting our creator_."

Yes… kill Hale. Good idea. Good.

No! Don't! This isn't—

Kill Hale.

That man is the bane of my existence. Always telling me what to do, and where to go, and how to do it! I'm more powerful than he is! He's just an old man now. It's my turn to run the CIA! It was time to get rid of such waste. I'm the next in line. It's my turn.

Wait. No.

Yes.

"_Yes. It is your turn. Go and kill James Hale_."

I ran toward the hallway leading to the bathroom, cocking my gun as I went. Once I finished with Hale, I would go back and eliminate the rest of those idiots. They might have been harmless, but one more enemy dead was a plus in my book.

The AI's voice sniggered, and I laughed along with it.

The bathroom door stood innocently in the dark hallway awaiting my breach. Hale thought he was safe in there. I chuckled darkly, and a dark rasp rang out through the hall. He thought he was safe.

I forced the door open and encountered Hale still sitting there, nursing his broken limb. How frail he was.

"Oh, thank goodness, Eleven," said Hale, relief lining his elderly face. "I was starting to get worried about you. What's going on?"

"_Say nothing. Kill him_."

I said nothing as I pulled out a small knife from the garter beneath my dress. Shooting him was so… boring.

"Eleven?" asked Hale tentatively. "Eleven, what are you—"

Our eyes met and he recoiled, dragging himself across the dirty bathroom wall.

"Good God…" he breathed, his eyes shining with fury and betrayal. "You're one of them too."

"You've been around too long, Hale," I said menacingly, holding the knife up to his neck. A strange echo sounded in my head, as my voice and the AI's were the same. "It's time for a change of management."

I pressed the blade into his throat and his breath constricted in horror. With a sort of malicious pleasure I increased the pressure, waiting for the blood to flow and the life to leave the crumpled man in front of me…

"NO!"

I was thrust into a stall at lightning speed, and the figure that had pushed me stood in front of the door.

"Let me out!" I snarled, taking out my gun and pointing it at the door. "I'll shoot. I swear to God I'll shoot!"

The door opened a crack and I sprang out with a feline quickness, facing my attacker.

But there was no attacker.

There were attackers.

A throng of people ambushed me, pinning me to the ground and leaning their entire body weight on top of my black-covered figure. I saw vaguely familiar faces frowning deeply at me. Those effing Reds and Blues. And that stupid Freelancer! I growled menacingly and tried to twist my hand enough to stab or shoot someone, but I looked to my hands and realized someone had taken away my weapons.

"Bastards!" I spat. "Get off me!"

"_Do whatever is necessary to escape!_" the AI hissed.

My wrists were pinned to the ground and I looked up to a familiar face wearing a checkerboard suit. I knew that face.

"_No you don't_!" screamed the AI. "_Focus on your goal!"_

I continued to writhe in the group's grasp, but the check-suited figure stared looked worriedly down at me and said something unintelligible to the other Reds and Blues. They nodded in assent and he reached a hand toward me. I attempted to bite at his fingers, but another soldier in a gray suit held my head steady while the first reached around the side of my head. I felt a sharp prick, as if something had been removed from my being.

…

…

…


	25. International Affairs, Part VII

My throat closed as a waterfall of memory drowned me temporarily, running its icy chill down my back. I shivered violently and cried out.

"No!"

The guys jumped off me and I sat up, holding my head in my hands.

_I just tried to murder my boss._

My head pounded and I held it between two fists as if I could keep it from exploding, squeezing my eyes shut. I heard movement and voices around me, but I ignored them. Each time my heart thudded, I saw red flashes of blood in front of my eyes from beneath the lids. It only reinforced the rancid crust of guilt now forming on my heart.

I was an assassin.

Suddenly realizing that the others had fallen silent, I looked up. Each one stared at me… worriedly. Nine pairs of eyes a mixture of understanding and pity.

I looked at the older pair of gray eyes last.

"Mr. Hale…" I said feebly, my voice cracking. "I've acted—I've acted terribly—"

"No need to explain," he cut me off, waving a hand. "Your friends here just told me everything while you were recovering. I have the broken earpiece in my pocket."

"I'm so sorry…"

"Stop," he said firmly. "Business is business, and accidents happen."

I sighed, rubbing my temple. "I almost killed you…" I inhaled deeply and turned to the others. "Did you just follow me to the bathroom?"

"Yeah, it wasn't like you were hiding what you were up to," Grif replied matter-of-factly. "You were all like, 'I'm possessed, so get out of my way, bitches! I have some ass-kicking to do!' I really hope I didn't look as lame as you did when those AIs—"

"You looked twice as lame as she did," Church commented. "You were the easiest one to bring back to normal. Couldn't even put up a fight."

"But, Wash…?" I cut in, looking over at my tuxedo-clad ex. "Weren't you one of them?"

"Not at all," he said sarcastically. "I was actually really wanting to whip your ass."

"I bet you were," muttered Tucker under his breath. I slapped him.

"I never know with you," I said aloud. "But I guess the guys got to you before they got to me?"

"Yeah, same type of deal," Wash said back. "An ambush. Works pretty well, especially since we did you from behind like that."

"Bow chicka bow wow."

"Tucker, I swear to God…"

"Play nice, children," chastised Donut. "Come on, we gotta get back out to the dance floor."

After a slightly amused Hale gave us a brief overview of the next steps that needed to be taken, we left the bathroom in silence. I watched as the injured Hale reunited with his overjoyed wife in a fierce embrace. I turned away from the couple, facing my friends.

I almost laughed out loud as I looked at all of them, full length, for the first time.

We were a mess.

Once a perfectly starched and ironed mass of black and white, our clothing was torn and dirty, blending us together into a uniform shade of gray; all the rolling on the ground and fighting had coated us in the dust of the dance floor. Donut's tie no longer sparkled, and Church's hair was sticking up in all directions. I looked down at myself and remembered that I had lost my shoes in the melee. After hunting around a while, I found them abandoned by the edge of the dance floor. Wincing, I strapped them back on and joined the group again.

"You ready to go home?" I asked, smiling slightly.

The others chuckled, a single entity. Not Red, not Blue. Together.

"Aw, come on," said Donut, a mischievous smile playing on his face. "Don't you guys want to stay for happy hour? It's at midnight…"

The others groaned.

"We've had enough happiness tonight to last us a year," Simmons muttered. "I'm so ready to go."

After a brief salute to Hale—he told me to return to my original mission immediately—we left the dance floor, headed toward the exit. Just as we approached the swinging glass doors, I felt a hand at my arm.

"Hey, Eleven," said Wash as I turned around. I looked back to the others, who hesitated for a moment.

"Go ahead," I assured them. "I'll be there in a minute."

Once they had exited the building, Wash spoke up again.

"So…" he said, standing back and crossing his arms confidently. "Why don't you and I go get a drink while those losers head home? "

"'Those losers' happen to be my friends."

"Why, though?" he asked, almost disgusted. "What could they possibly have that I don't? I'm a Freelancer, for God's sake. I have everything."

I rolled my eyes. "Except a small ego."

He smiled coyly, dropping a hand to his belt loop. "It comes with the package… care to take a look?"

_Oh. Ew_. "You know what?"

"What?"

"I liked you better as an AI zombie."

I left without another word. Once I had reached the Reds and Blues, I sighed and turned to Donut.

"Never let me date another Freelancer," I muttered. Donut laughed and shook his head.

"I'm on it," he replied. "But… how are we getting home? We were dropped off by a community jet, but I have no idea when the next one will stop by."

"I've got it taken care of," I said, walking toward the plane hangar just down the street. "Follow me, guys. I have a private plane waiting to take me home. I'm sure it wouldn't be a problem to take you with me."

We reached my jet in no time and clambered inside. The round flight attended looked at us strangely, but let us in nonetheless.

"Don't ladies customarily bring one man home at a time?" he muttered under his breath. I laughed and hoped the others hadn't heard. Tucker would have a field day with that one.

"Damn, Eleven! You got this place all to yourself?" Grif called out, breathless. They all looked around at the luxury of the plane's interior. "Leather seats and a bedroom, too!"

"Jackpot!" cried Church happily, opening up a cabinet. "Look at this! A big screen TV and a liquor cabinet!"

The flight attendant looked quite unhappy at this discovery.

"Come on, guys. How about a round of champagne?" Simmons said, looking over Church's shoulder. "It's been a fancy day, and we should celebrate it with something other than booze."

"Oooh, I'm in!" squealed Donut. "I'll get the glasses!"

"Champagne?" asked Caboose confusedly. "I thought I used that to clean my hair in the shower…"

"Caboose," I replied patiently. "That's shamp—"

"I found a huge sound system!" interrupted Simmons. "I have my iPod on me! This is gonna be sweet!"

The flight attendant turned away from the group sullenly. "We are about to take off," he said behind his back. "Let me know if you need anything." I could tell this was exactly the opposite of what he wanted, and he disappeared behind the curtain. We wouldn't be seeing him again.

A mainstream rock song blasted through the plane as Simmons hooked up the technology. Soon, we were in the air, the lights low and the bass pumping, sharing the bubbly and cracking jokes.

How was it that a crammed plane full of tired, smelly soldiers was more fun than a formal ball?

Hmm. An interesting turn of events, to be sure.

I could live with it.


	26. To Infinity and Beyond, Part I

I silently thanked Hale for providing me with such a nice plane… otherwise, we would have never been able to smell normal again. We took turns in the minute shower, using up all the hot water available. Grif had somehow gotten shunted to the back of the line and spent his entire two minutes in the water howling about how cold it was. The whole event took much longer than it should have, too—Caboose tried to pour the champagne in his hair while in the shower, and we spent a good twenty minutes convincing him to give us back the bottle.

We couldn't do anything about the formalwear either. The boys certainly didn't have a change of clothing. Although I could have gotten dressed in my armor again, Donut begged me to stay in the dress ("I'll never be able to convince you to wear something like that again!"). I couldn't argue with that.

I had originally figured that the plane would be outfitted to suit my needs, considering how my dress and everything had been personally selected for me… but when I opened up some other of the plane's cabinets, I was greeted with bottles of cologne and Old Spice.

Suspicious that something was awry, I went back to the bedroom and opened up the drawers. A man's change of clothes lay in the drawer alongside a pair of boxers in gray and yellow labeled "Property of Project Freelancer."

Wash.

My face reddened. Apparently, Wash had expected his evening to go quite differently than it had.

Although I resented Wash for his sneakiness, I was thankful that he had stocked the bathroom with deodorant. Between the showers and the Old Spice, we were able to get rid of the sweaty-man smell. I unabashedly used some too, not caring that I smelled like a guy.

Hair dripping all over the nice carpet and laughing at Caboose's reaction to actually tasting the liquor, we continued the plane ride casually. I knew it would be hours before we reached Blood Gulch again, but nonetheless, I was anxious to get home. It was exhausting, this saving-the-day stuff.

After a while, we were all starting to get tired. After calculating the time change, I figured we would get back to Blood Gulch in the morning, so we should try and get some sleep. There were two couches big enough for sleeping; Grif and Caboose called them instantly, and were soon asleep. Sarge had dozed off in one of the chairs, so I left him there. I gave Simmons a blanket and shoved him in the bathtub, where he rather crankily settled himself—I heard him snoring within minutes. Although I insisted that Tucker, Church or Donut take the bed, they refused. I sighed and handed them some extra blankets and pillows, and they were soon asleep as well on the ground.

I turned off the lights and fell into the bed, exhausted. All around me, sleeping soldiers recovered from a draining day, snoring quietly or murmuring in their dreams. I tried to stay awake a while, watching over them, but the rumble of the plane's engines soon lulled me into warm unconsciousness.

* * *

A rustle woke me. I opened my eyes and saw a figure standing in the doorway leading to the bedroom. I figured he would make his way to the bathroom, but instead, he made his way toward my bed. I closed my eyes quickly, pretending to be asleep.

I felt the figure sit on the edge of the bed. I tried to look at who it was through slit eyelids, but the room was too dark, so I just prepared to call out whoever was sitting there. It was Donut, probably, with a can of shaving cream ready to spray all over my face or Grif with a black sharpie about to decorate me with a moustache. Whoever was about to pull this prank would totally pay for it.

I felt a weight shift as the person leaned forward, and I could tell he was hovering over my face. Ready to reach up and smack the prank puller, I tensed up. The bed creaked as the soldier leaned forward, and I felt something touch my forehead.

Something stopped me from punching whoever it was, and I froze. What touched my forehead wasn't shaving cream or marker.

A pair of lips kissed my forehead.

Before I could fully comprehend what was happening, the figure pulled away and stood up from the bed. My eyes flew open as I tried to make out who it might be, but he had turned away and disappeared into the darkness. He was one of the soldiers, I knew that much.

But which one?

_CLUNK._

I cried out in surprise as the plane jolted violently. The sharp vibrations shook the entire area and the other soldiers yelled as well, shaken forcefully from their sleep.

"What was that?" shouted Church from the darkness. I leapt out of the bed and turned on a lamp. The others followed suit, and we were soon able to see each other.

"I have no idea," said Sarge gruffly. "Don't they know how to drive planes around here? Back in my day—"

"Let's ask the pilot," said Grif. Before he could pull back the curtains leading to the front of the plane, however, the flight attendant strode out.

"There's a problem!" He stuttered, panicking. "The—the plane's motors just died! They're not starting up!" The flight attendant began running around the room in a panic. "We're going to crash! If you miscreants hadn't taken all of my liquor, I would have been able to have a last couple drinks before dying!"

Our stomachs flipped as we felt the plane incline downward.

"What the hell?" said Grif confusedly, glancing out the window. "I thought we were in space! How are we crashing downward?"

The flight attendant began hyperventilating. "We were pulled into some planet's gravitational field once we lost control of the motors!"

Caboose squealed in fear. "Are we going to die now?"

"Shut up, Caboose," Church shot at him. "Sarge, Simmons, let's go see what's going on with the pilot. Eleven, you and the others have to find anything we can use to—uh—"

"To survive?" Tucker suggested.

Church gulped, shrugged, and entered the cockpit with the others. We looked around, trying to find supplies. In the closet marked "EMERGENCY," we found an enormous blow up life raft, numerous flotation devices, a flashlight, water bottles, and dehydrated food. There was one parachute.

"Are you shitting me?" I gasped, glancing at the pathetic little parachute. "We've only got one of these?"

I set our one way out on the table and started looking for anything else useful with the others. We found absolutely nothing besides a lifeguarding whistle and a signal flare beneath the bed.

"Oh man… we're so screwed…" Donut moaned.

"All of you are," said a voice behind us.

The flight attendant had strapped the parachute to his back, smiling grimly at us. "Sorry, chaps. I may be old, but I'm not ready to resign just yet." We ran at him, but before we could grab the parachute, he wrenched the emergency exit open and jumped out into the night.


	27. To Infinity and Beyond, Part II

After shutting the emergency exit again, we looked at each other in shock.

"That… that bastard," said Grif weakly. "We don't stand a chance now!"

"Guys!" cried Simmons from the cockpit. "We have a problem here!"

"Yeah, like we didn't have one before," muttered Tucker.

"Something's wrong with the pilot! I think he, like, passed out or something!"

Simmons dragged the pilot's body out from the cockpit and rolled him over on the carpet, ripping off his goggles. His eyes were half open, and I reached down to feel his pulse.

There was none.

"Oh, my God," I gasped. "He… he's dead."

"What happened to him?" asked Tucker, his jaw tight.

"I'm not sure," replied Simmons, panicky. "With those goggles on we couldn't see his face, so we spent a good amount of time talking to him. It was only after we realized he wasn't responding to us at all when we found out he was…" he trailed off, peering nervously at the pilot.

The plane jolted again, and I stared out the window in horror. We were closing in on some planet, its gravity pulling us maliciously toward the ground, forcing the plane's nose down.

We ran toward the cockpit and found Sarge and Church both trying to control the jet.

"Anything?" I asked, trying not to make my voice waver too much.

"We have no control," said Church harshly, sweat dripping down his temple as he and Sarge jostled the controls. "The motors are all shot, and we just keep going down."

"Damn it!" yelled Sarge in frustration. "I was _not_ planning on going this way!"

"Going where?" asked Caboose.

The plane continued its descent, and we worked in silence, willing the motors to start again. The entire group crowded around the dashboard, working every button, every lever, every dial.

The ground still sped toward us.

"It's no use," muttered Church, panting heavily after attempting to crank a stuck lever. "I… I think this is it, guys…"

"No! We have to keep trying!" Grif shouted, slamming a fist against the dash. "We have to do _something!_"

"The motors aren't going to start up any time soon," lamented Simmons, his face contorted in stress. "There's only one thing left to do. We have to try to land."

"You're not serious!" gasped Donut.

"What would you rather do? Crash?"

No one answered.

"The kiss-ass is right, for once," said Sarge. "Let's try and land this piece of junk!"

Without hesitation, we abandoned our fruitless attempts at fixing the motors and began to work the plane's wings.

"Get all the flaps up!" Church commanded. "We need to get the jet as horizontal as possible."

"We have approximately thirty seconds before impact!" cried Simmons. "We need to get this bitch level _now!_"

Streaming with perspiration and breathing rapidly, we continued the frenzy of action. I could feel the plane slowly becoming more horizontal as we approached a large green canopy of trees.

A jungle.

"Time to crash…" squeaked Donut, hugging me tightly.

The belly of the jet now horizontally struck the canopy, brushing the tops of the trees as it descended. It lowered further, and I heard the metallic scraping as branches scratched against the vessel, slowing it. The plane tipped forward more, driving into the depths of the foliage.

"DUCK!" I cried, pushing the head down of any soldier I could find. I peered up briefly in time to see massive branches slam into the jet's large windows, shattering them into thousands of tiny pieces.

The last thing I remembered was screaming and huddling down next to a soldier, covering my head with my hands as we plunged into the unknown.

* * *

"Eleven… Eleven… Eleven…"

Fuzziness. Something was hovering above my head. Then another something, and another. I groaned and coughed violently, trying to move.

"She's waking up!" one of the heads above me shouted. I winced. Too loud.

"Ells, are you all right?" another whispered frantically. "Say something!"

"Don't…" I began, coughing again. "Don't call me 'Ells.'"

The head of shaggy hair above me shook with laughter. "I think she's okay," he said to the others.

Everything eventually came into focus, and I tried to sit up.

"No, don't," Church said, resting a hand on my shoulder. "We have to get your wound covered first."

I looked down and gasped. A large gash ran from my left collarbone to the end of my shoulder. It was bleeding profusely, but it wasn't until I actually flexed the muscle that I felt sharp pain.

Simmons rushed over with some fresh bindings and began to wrap my shoulder. "How are the others?" I asked anxiously as Church placed a pillow beneath my head. "Are they hurt?"

"Well, we aren't all conscious yet," he replied. "Sarge is still out of it—he got a pretty nasty bump to the head. Donut's on him now."

"Bow chicka—"

"Shut up, Tucker. As you can see, Tucker here is fine. Not even a plane crash can shut him up. We think that Simmons bruised a rib, but besides that, we've just got bumps and scratches."

I took a deep breath and began to inspect my body. I flexed my fingers and toes, felt my ribs, and pivoted my joints.

"Hold still, will you?" asked Simmons as he continued to cover my laceration. "It's hard enough to use this stuff when you're not moving." He was pale and had gotten blood all over his hands.

"Is… is it bad?" I asked, falling still. He looked over at my face for a moment, and then bent close to the wound, prodding the flesh. His face was mere inches from my neck, and I could feel his breath. I flushed with embarrassment.

He straightened up, his face red as well. "It's really not that deep. It just looks like it cut into one of the major blood vessels, so there's a lot of blood." He silently finished wrapping up my shoulder and stood up, holding out his hand to help me up.

"I… I can do it myself, thanks," I responded, not looking at him. Shakily, I stood up and looked around for the first time. We were still in the plane, though much of the roof had been ripped off by the overhanging branches. Outside the broken windows, I saw that both wings had been torn from the rest of the jet. The daylight streamed in through the broken roof, since the jet had taken down multiple tall trees as we had crashed.

I had been placed in the bedroom on the bed, so I slowly explored the other living area. Some couches had been thrown out of the plane, but some remained. Simmons had left me and rummaged through one of the cabinets where he had apparently found the first aid kit, muttering to himself. Grif and Donut were huddled around Sarge and glancing anxiously over at Simmons, waiting for whatever he was looking for. Tucker and Church resided in the cockpit, messing around with the radio and trying to make a connection.

As Sarge groaned and sat up wearily, I sighed in relief. We were all okay. All safe, for the moment. All here.

I gazed around the room again, wondering how we had all made it alive, when something occurred to me.

I turned on my heel and looked in the bedroom. The closet. The bathroom. They were all vacant. I surveyed the living area and cockpit just to make sure of my observation, and my heart began to pound as the blood rushed to my face.

"Where's Caboose?"


	28. To Infinity and Beyond, Part III

It was as if a storm had whirled about inside the ruined plane. A moment before, the atmosphere had been so tired and resigned to our plight; now, the soldiers rushed around despite their multiple injuries, calling out to our comrade. We searched the entire plane from top to bottom and Caboose was absolutely nowhere.

"Where the hell could he be?" asked Church in a panic, his voice cracking. "He was here like five minutes ago. Five minutes!"

"He can't be far then," said Donut, his face devoid of all color. "We need to go out there and find him!"

"How can we?" asked Grif. "I mean, look at us. We're dressed like we just got mugged at Cinderella's ball!"

Unfortunately, Grif had nailed that one right on the head. The boys still wore their suits, though now they were considerably more damaged and covered in twigs and soot. I looked down at myself and realized that patches of my dress had torn off, narrowly missing embarrassing places.

"Okay, let's just figure out how to go out in that jungle before we jump in," I said. "Just a second."

I retreated back into the bedroom, praying that the closet hadn't been destroyed. After wrestling with the splintered door for a moment, I removed it.

Perfect.

There, hanging uniformly and obediently in the closet, were at least ten suits of gray armor highlighted with yellow.

I smiled grimly. Dating Wash had taught me a couple things: 1.) With large ego comes large vanity. 2.) With Freelancer boyfriend comes very prepared boyfriend.

I looked to the front of the line of armor and saw my faithful sky-blue suit ready for me.

"Guys," I called to the other room. "Here's a solution."

There was general uproar and disgust at the thought of all the guys wearing the same color—_Wash's_ gray, no less. However, after a sharp chastisement from my part and a quick reminder of Caboose, they all clambered into the armor, and I in mine.

As we finished dressing, I couldn't help but think how unpleasant (for all of us) it would be staring at six copies of Wash. When I was done, I looked through the cabinet which contained all the emergency supplies, wishing without much hope that I could just find some reflective tape.

To my surprise, I found exactly what I was looking for—several rolls of reflective tape in all the colors of the spectrum. I grabbed six of them, placing the royal blue roll on my utility belt with a painful twang to my heart.

I entered the bedroom again and stopped, staring at the soldiers. There stood before me six Agent Washingtons, varying only slightly in height. It was the first time I couldn't tell who anyone was.

"Well, I found some tape in all your respective colors," I said to them. "Just wrap some pieces around your arms and helmet so we identify each other."

I stepped forward, about to hand them out, but stopped. They didn't move either.

"Why don't you guess who we are?" asked one of the soldiers playfully.

"Diabolical!" a gruff voice came from the far right. "We've got a soldier to save! No time for sissy games!"

I chuckled despite myself and handed him the bright red tape.

The next solder over stood defiantly before me, arms crossed and back straight. The leader's position. He took the pale blue tape as I handed it to him. "I don't know how you knew that," Church muttered.

"I'm next!" said the one to the left of Church. "You'll never be able to guess me!" He practically hopped around with excitement.

"…Donut," I replied with a grin. He sighed and took the tape.

"You're no fun."

The next solder over was already sitting on the bed and complaining he was tired. I handed the orange-yellow tape to him instantly.

After Grif, I saw the next soldier fiddling with the wires on his new armor, tinkering with all the technicalities. I shook my head, and, without a word, handed Simmons the maroon.

I only had the teal left in my hand and gave it to Tucker.

"That's not fair," he complained. "You did me last."

"What—do you think I wouldn't be able to distinguish you from the rest?"

"Well, yeah. You probably wouldn't be able to."

"No, I would. Your figure is much girlier than the rest of these men's."

I turned from him, sniggering, as he protested.

"Come on, let's get this show on the road," Sarge said, finishing up with the tape. "Not only do we have to find a soldier, but it's Caboose. This definitely isn't gonna be easy."

We exited the plane carefully, each soldier complaining about different fit of the new armor. _I swear to God, sometimes they're worse drama queens than high school girls…_

Outside the plane, we looked around for any sign of Caboose or his trail. Everywhere we searched, there lay only greenery and foliage—the confusion of vines and leaves gave no clue as to Caboose's direction.

"Damn," Simmons muttered. "If only Caboose had grabbed some armor before he disappeared. These are way more advanced than ours. We'd find him in no time with a tracking device."

My stomach churned at the thought of our friend, trapped in the jungle, wearing nothing but a suit.

"This isn't effing James Bond," Grif said, irritated. "He should have known to—"

"Listen, Grif," Church interrupted hotly. "How do you know Caboose left of his own will? Maybe he was kidnapped or something!"

"Shut up!" I cried suddenly, frightened by the thought of Caboose being taken from us. The others stopped at the nervous tone in my voice and turned to me. "You know what happens when you assume? You make an ass out of 'u' and 'me.' So close those traps and look over here."

I had glanced to an area around the plane that we hadn't noticed before. A footprint was squelched into the mud—not a Wash boot print.

"Caboose," Donut said simply.

We nodded and marched into the trees, following the footprints that only Caboose could have made. As our eyes adjusted to the darkness of the trees, we noticed that the greenery had been moved out of the way or stomped in certain places. Our comrade had left us clues, after all.

We spoke little as we followed the rudimentary trail. We had to stop multiple times and look around carefully for the disturbed mud and vegetation—the jungle became darker and darker as we pressed through—but our patience would always pay off, and we would be back on the trail again.

I had no idea what time it was on this planet, but the light seemed to be growing as we made out way through the jungle. As we pressed through, I realized that the crowd of trees was just thinning.

"Oh, look!" Donut said suddenly, making us all jump. "A clearing!"

Just ahead, the trees separated and ended. We hurried to the clearing, stopped at the edge of the forest, and gasped.

The terrain sloped downward from the point where we stood, and we gazed down into the valley without speaking. There, rising below us, lay an enormous concrete edifice. I could tell from here that the walls were several feet thick, and multiple guards roamed around tall towers, clutching large guns. A huge wall of barbed wire lined the building, and a shiver ran up my spine. I didn't know what this place was, but its occupants were most assuredly bent on keeping someone out—or in.

"Do… do you think Caboose is here?" whispered Simmons.

"We'll have to find out, won't we?" I replied grimly.

We crept around the building, staying near the edges of the trees and keeping out of the patrolling guards' sights. As we rounded the corner, a concrete sign to match the rest of the building came into view: COTE D'AZURE DETENTION FACILITY.

"Well, at least we know where we are…" said Church.

"What, it's like a prison?" asked Grif. "What's it doing in the middle of nowhere?"

No one had an answer for him. All we knew was that we needed to get inside.

All our thoughts on Caboose, we began to plan.


	29. To Infinity and Beyond, Part IV

"This doesn't seem physically possible."

"Do you have a better plan?"

"No, but this doesn't even count as a plan! It's like… an unborn idea."

"It's plenty born. We just need to give it life!"

"Shut up, Donut."

"Geez, don't get your panties in a twist."

"Listen, if you don't shut up, I'll twist _your_ panties so hard—"

"Shh! They're looking!"

We quieted instantly as one of the guards stared in our direction, but relaxed as he continued his patrol.

"Listen, guys," I said hesitantly. "I don't think this is a good plan, or idea, or whatever. I really don't think I have that much power."

"You're the Chief of Intraglobal Reconnaissance and Affairs!" protested Simmons, exasperated.

"Yeah. That's fancy language for 'you don't work with prisoners.' I do ambassadorial shit! They wouldn't let me ten yards near that place."

"We don't have any other options. You're still a CIA Agent," replied Church. "You have to go. If they don't let you in, then they won't let anyone in."

"Wait a second…" I said slowly. Behind the prison, a large airfield with multiple jets lay beside a large glowing door. "That's a portal over there."

Sarge gasped. "I'm surprised at you, Agent! I woulda never thought you'd run out on one of your own!"

"I'm not, I'm not!" I said excitedly. "Listen, we need to get to that portal. I'll explain everything once we get over there. Make sure you're not seen."

We walked around the building in the thicket of trees once more, making our way toward the portal. I sighed with relief once we reached it. One side faced the prison, and the other faced the trees, not three feet from where we stood. If we entered it through the back, no one from the facility would see us.

"Simmons, stay out of sight and get up to the portal. Reset it so it will take us somewhere deserted."

As one of the guards turned away from us, Simmons crept to the portal, staying hidden behind it. After fiddling for a while, he turned to us and whispered, "It didn't let me enter in most of the areas I tried. They were all locked. I can't set it to Blood Gulch, so it's aiming at a lake shore in northern Canada, on Earth. Completely deserted. Is that good?"

"Perfect. Thanks, Simmons. You're the best."

He almost got caught as he bounced brightly back to the trees.

"Okay, guys. I'll be right back."

Without another word, I jumped through the back side of the portal, still hidden from the guards. I landed on the Canadian shore and looked down at myself expectantly.

Nothing had changed.

Frowning, I turned back to the portal and hurtled myself through, appearing back at the jail site. Again, nothing.

After three more trips to Canada, I returned, frustrated, to the jungle. The others stared at me.

"What… the… hell…?" gaped Grif.

"I thought that, maybe, if I went through the portal enough times, my armor would—" I began, and then stopped as I looked up at Tucker. A lightbulb went off in my brain.

"Tucker… take off your clothes."

"Bow chicka—wait, what?"

* * *

An awkward quarter of an hour later, Tucker and I had traded armor. Wash—and, I supposed, Tucker—was taller and brawnier than I was, so the armor rattled loosely around as I walked. It still reeked of Old Spice.

Tucker, on the other hand, was probably a little more uncomfortable. He was squeezed into my too-short blue armor, and walked out of a dense patch of trees stiffly.

"See?" I said as our companions chuckled. "The armor matches your feminine figure perfectly."

He scowled at me as he limped past. "I swear, the things I do for my job…"

Without another word, he disappeared into the portal and returned, loping back into our patch of forest, my armor now completely black.

"Perfect!" I cried happily.

Tucker looked down at himself, nonplussed. His confusion overrode his irritation. "Yeah, so I turned the armor black. That happens every time."

"Exactly," I said. "Okay, let's switch again."

Once we were in our correct suits again, I turned to lead all of them back to the entrance of the prison through the wood, but Church grabbed my arm.

"Eleven, what the hell is going on? You are not leaving without telling us why you both just randomly stripped and cross-dressed for a portal."

I sighed. "Church," I said, stepping back. "Look at me."

I saw his head nod as he looked me up and down. "Yeah, you're black."

"Right. Look familiar?"

He was silent for a moment.

"Tex."

"Bingo. Now, look at yourself. Who do you see?"

"Wash."

"Good boy. Now, here's the plan. Church, you and I will go up to the gates. As Wash, you'll say that you found me—Tex. She's has been missing for a while now, hasn't she? And she's on their most wanted list for working so closely with Project Freelancer. You'll say that you found her and are turning her in to prison. That will get us inside and able to look around for Caboose."

"What about us?" asked Simmons indignantly. "You're just going to leave us out here?"

"We can't have a bunch of Washes running around in there," I replied. "So… I'm really sorry. You're going to have to wait. It's too dangerous having all of you in there anyway."

After standing firm against their protests, Church and I left the fuming soldiers in that area of the wood as we made our way back to the gates of the jail. I assured him that he didn't need to take off the light blue tape—the guards wouldn't notice the inconspicuous bands. After that, we were silent. I felt his eyes on me as we walked together, but refused to return his stare. I knew how hard this was on him. Having the shell of Tex walk beside him as if she were real. Not only that, but he had to pretend she was alive as well in front of a critical audience.

We crashed through the underbrush as quietly as possible, but I could still hear Church's steps die when he stopped walking. I turned to him.

"Why?" he asked quietly.

"Why what?"

"Why Tex?"

"Church, we both know this place wouldn't let me in. My authority isn't enough. They aren't out looking for me. They're looking for Tex."

He paused. "Then… why me? I can't handle it. Pretending she's… alive again."

I looked at him, wishing I could see his face more through the visor. I sighed. "You knew her better than any of us. You'll know how to act to make me seem like her. And… you _are_ strong enough to do this." I saw the doubt in his stance. "You're the best man for the job. I wouldn't have asked you to do this if I weren't confident. You're the Blue leader for a reason, Leo."

After a moment of silence, he looked up. "I'll… I'll do it for Caboose," he said gruffly. "But otherwise, I'd scratch that black shit off you myself. You're the same height as she was."

His weakness had disappeared and was replaced by an irritable attitude of resolve. We finished the trail back to the gate and were about to begin, when he stopped once again.

"One more question," he said, glancing at the entrance. "Why are _you_ acting as Tex? I mean, no offense, but you didn't know her as well as we did."

"Losing confidence in me already?" I asked, chuckling. "Well, besides the fact that I am a girl—I know you haven't noticed—we don't have anyone else to play the part. Just because I told Tucker I thought he was girly doesn't mean I believe it. There's no way he could get her tone of voice."

"Donut?" Church suggested. I could almost hear his smile.

"If you wanted this mission to be a failure, yes. Do you realize that the second he opened his mouth we would be doomed? I've never even heard a girl giggle like that."


	30. To Infinity and Beyond, Part V

I imagined what the guards would be seeing as we strode up to the prison gate. A Freelancer-gone-bad-turned-good and a Freelancer-gone-bad-gone-missing. We were in for an interesting conversation.

"Halt!" said one of the guards. He was standing on a high wall and my heart leapt when I saw him—he was royal blue. However, more guards turned up and I saw they were all Caboose's color. I glanced at Church; he had been thinking the same thing. He was stock still and staring upward at the guards. "Identification!" the soldier snapped.

"Agent Washington," said Church in a slightly deeper voice than his own. It was a good impersonation.

They laughed. "Washington! Knew they'd be sending you back here sometime. Did Command find you breaking fifty other official rules, or are you turning yourself in?"

"Very funny," Church replied. "Fact is, I just got promoted. See who I've got here?"

He grabbed my arm and shook it slightly. The guards above gasped.

"Is… is that…?"

"Yeah, it's Texas. I found her, and I'm turning her in." He squeezed my arm tightly as I held my hands behind my back, feigning handcuffs.

"Wait, how do you know that's her?" asked another guard.

Church gulped. "You don't think I would know her when I saw her? Fights like a bitch, walks like a bitch, talks like a bitch."

"You can say that again," said a third guard.

"We still don't know if that's her," the second guard insisted. "Wash, rip off her helmet, will you?"

Church turned to me, panicking.

"Like hell you will!" I spat, writhing away from him. "Get away from me, asshole! If I get a hold of you cockbites, I'll be the last thing you ever see!"

"Damn, never mind, that's definitely her," the second guard said as they all took a step back from the edge of the wall.

The others laughed and opened the large gate. I dragged behind, putting up enough of a struggle to make it seem real.

"Man, how did you turn off her invisibility?" one of the guards asked us as we stepped inside.

Church laughed uncomfortably. "Well, it wasn't easy, but hey, it's me. I can handle it."

"I've gotta give you props for that one, even if you are a traitor."

"Don't start with that again, Jones. He's on Command's side now. He got Texas after she disappeared for good. You can't redeem yourself more than that."

"Thanks, guys," said Church, cutting him off before they decided to join us. "I can take it from here. I dragged her this far, didn't I? I just need to take a look at your… um… prison logs. To see where I can shove her."

"Sure thing. Just down the hall and to your left."

We hurried away, but before we could go through the door, the second guard stopped us again.

"Wait!" We halted, our hearts throbbing. "What the… she's not wearing handcuffs!"

The guards surged forward, but Wash held out a hand.

"STOP!" He yelled so loudly that they paused and toppled over each other. "Are you _insane_? These are the new standard issue cuffs! She's got enormous magnets inside her arm plates so they magnetize together. Completely immovable, and they'll do nasty things to your radios. Screw your transmissions over. Don't get any closer."

They left worriedly, checking their radios, while we slipped into the side room. Church locked the door behind us and I sank into a chair.

"Nice save."

I looked up and saw hundreds of small screens, each one a panoramic view of a different cell. Countless hardened criminals slept or sat in small cement rooms. Scattered other screens showed the hallways throughout the premises.

"Look for Caboose," I breathed. "If we can't see him here, there's no way he's in the building. They've got this place completely hooked up."

We glanced from screen to screen, our breaths light. Every glance brought a sigh of relief that Caboose wasn't imprisoned, but a twinge of worry at his absence. My searching became faster and faster as Caboose's nonappearance became more obvious. My eyes flew to each window. No. No. No. No.

Wait.

One of the guards appeared to be breaking into one of the cells. The camera angle was that of a hallway leading to a holding area, and he pulled at the doorknob to no avail. My breathing becoming faster, I strained to see guards in other windows. Each of them had keys dangling on their utility belts as they patrolled other hallways or accessed cells easily.

"Church… I think I found him. Top floor, cell 665."

I didn't know why Caboose was trying to get into the cell—from another screen, I saw the inmate inside, who was just sleeping on a mat. The image was too fuzzy to see the criminal's identity, but I figured Caboose was just trying to use the bathroom or something.

Before exiting the room, I messed around with the wires a bit and unplugged the entire camera system—it wouldn't be too long before the others found out, and who knew if it would come in handy? Although we wanted to hurtle toward Caboose at full speed, we restrained ourselves and returned to our contrived positions as captor and prisoner. We hurried down the hall as fast as we dared, and no one stopped us. Tex really had gotten herself a reputation.

Cell 665 was in an isolated area of the prison, away from any other cells. Multiple guards were stationed on the floor, but for some reason, when we reached Cell 665's hallway—where we had seen Caboose—no other guards were present. It seemed as if they purposely avoided the area.

"I wonder why they won't come here," I whispered to Church. "Look—they'll patrol all the way to the edge of where the hallway begins and just turn around."

"They look nervous," commented Church. We looked at each other uneasily, but continued. The guards looked at us, confused, but when they saw where we were headed they quickly averted their eyes and continued patrolling in the area of the floor farthest away from Cell 665.

The hallway was long and narrow, the many security cameras scanning the area blindly.

No one was there.

"Dammit," muttered Church. "Where did he go?"

We approached the cell anxiously, but before we could try the door, it slammed open and a tall soldier walked out, shutting the door securely behind him.

A guard. He walked out into the hall, saw us, and froze.

A moment passed, and then two. The guard shook violently and collapsed to the ground. Before we could do anything, however, he stood up and brushed himself off.

I was about to ask him if he had seen Caboose when he spoke to us.

"Hello! I have found you! And we will have a party later to celebrate!"

"C—Caboose?" I asked. "Is that you?"

"Hello!" he repeated cheerily. "I have found you!"

"Jesus, Caboose, I can't believe you found that armor!" Church said, relief flooding his voice. "I'm not Washington. Recognize my voice? It's me, Church! We came to rescue you. We've been looking everywhere! I can't believe you just… ran away like that!"

We walked quickly toward the exit, Caboose staring at us and following us silently out.

"Nice going," I said. "You hurt his feelings."

"Aw, come on, buddy," Church said. "Don't worry about it. It was just… just a damn stupid thing of you to do." I glared at him, and he sighed. "At least you're fine now."

"We need to get out of here," I said, changing the subject. "Caboose, what is the quickest way out? We can't have them notice anything."

Caboose pointed down a hallway and ushered us to the first floor, practically shoving us out of the window. No guards were around, and we made it through successfully.

Once outside on the grass, we knew we needed to make a run for it to climb over the prison wall—the barbed wire wouldn't stop us in our protective armor—and then to the trees where the others waited with the portal. I didn't know how we would unlock the portal and set it to Blood Gulch, but it was a start.

The moment we ran across the grass and began climbing the wall, we heard yells from the prison. A small commotion commenced and they began firing at us. Luckily, we had all made it to the other side of the wall by that point and were in no danger of being shot.

That changed as we headed toward the airfield, where the portal and others waited for us. The guards came running out of the prison and continued to fire at us. We would never make it to the forest. The portal was just too far away.

"Caboose! Come back!" Church yelled. Caboose was running away from us and heading, not toward the portal, but to a large jet lying in the airfield. He turned to us and beckoned.

"Let's go!" I told Church as we took off after our friend. "Caboose has a good idea! We'll commandeer one of the jets and pick up the others in the forest! That's way safer—we don't even know how to unlock the portal!"

We reached the largest jet and hopped inside. Caboose, Church and I—getting past the security system with Caboose's armor—turned on the jet and took off from the ground amid sniper rifle firing from the guards below. I had no idea Caboose knew how to fly a jet, but there he sat, in the captain's chair, flying the plane completely on his own. It made some sense, I supposed. He _had_ been able to drive Sheila.

"Hell yeah!" cried Church in triumph. "Awesome job! Okay, let's go get the others. They're near the portal, Caboose!"

Caboose paid Church no attention and continued to steer the jet vertically, up and away from the planet.

"Caboose, come on!" I said, frowning. "We've got to go back there! Turn around!"

Caboose continued on his path, ignoring us. He was silent. Church and I looked at each other, alarmed.

"Caboose? What about the other Reds and Blues?" I asked apprehensively.

"I'm surprised at you," Caboose finally said in a very different voice than we had originally heard. This voice was darker and more serious than Caboose's could ever be. "You of all people would have been able to figure out that I am not Caboose, Tex."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked roughly, taking out my rifle and pointing it at him. Church did the same as we both backed up slowly. "Who are you?"

In one swift movement, the soldier drew his own gun; before we could fire, he took two well-aimed shots and fired at our weapons, causing explosions in each. I pulled the trigger in mine frantically, but it was in vain. Church and I were completely defenseless.

We were deep into space by now, and the man casually placed the jet in autopilot mode. He stood up, walked into a bright fluorescent light, and, with one hand, he ripped off his helmet.

"Why, my dear, I am Dr. Leonard L. Church."


	31. To Infinity and Beyond, Part VI

I stared at the man. His features were instantly recognizable—his strong chin and characteristic facial features mirrored exactly the soldier who stood beside me wearing Wash's armor. He could have been a clone of my usually powder-blue comrade. Then… I remembered that, in a way, he was. I glanced to my side to make sure Church was still standing there. He hadn't moved an inch.

This was, without a doubt, the mastermind behind Project Freelancer.

I gasped, realizing he still thought I was Tex. How would she react to such news? After such a long time of never seeing the man she loved, what would the war-hardened soldier do to greet him?

"What—how is this possible?" I asked, stuttering. There was nothing more I could have done. My body was frozen in shock.

The Director chuckled. "I am just as stunned as you are. After all this time… I would have never dreamed that I would see you again." His knees buckled suddenly as his voice broke. "It's been… so long."

He lunged at me and I half expected an attack, but, instead, he hugged me so tightly I couldn't breathe. I heard Church gasp in the background.

The Director wouldn't let me go, even as I loosened my grip. He inhaled deeply, taking in my scent. Apparently, nothing was amiss, because he whispered in my ear, "Kiss me, Alison."

_Oh, shit._

I looked at my friend, Church, and knew there was only one thing I could do to ensure the Director's trust.

"Close your eyes," I said as calmly as possible, panicking inside. "That will make it... that much more intense."

He chuckled. "Always thinking one step ahead, aren't we? That's the Tex I remember."

He closed his eyes and I ripped off my own helmet, covering his eyes with one of my hands for good measure. I looked as his lips for a moment, trying not to picture Church, and then closed my own eyes and kissed him.

The Director growled deeply in his throat as his hands tightened around my waist. He rammed his lips into mine forcefully in what he must have thought was a passionate kiss. For a moment, I resisted, but then thought of my friends and kissed him back, holding back the urge to vomit.

After what seemed like ages, he let me go and I hurriedly put my helmet on before he opened his eyes.

"Hmm…" he said thoughtfully. "That wasn't like the kisses I remember. Well, no matter. I'm sure we'll have plenty of time for that later."

I forcedly laughed along with him and stepped back slowly.

"I can't believe this is actually happening," I said as I realized that was _way_ too gentle for Tex. "But you're still an ass for being gone so long," I added with irritation lining my voice.

"Me?" The Director laughed. "I was in jail! I couldn't help that. I should be the one complaining. You were the one I thought was dead. And now, here you are! And you have some explaining to do." He pressed a button on the jet's dashboard; a large metallic arm swung out of the ceiling and pinned Church to the wall. He was immobile. He began to struggle, but I inconspicuously held up a palm behind my back, signaling him to stop. From our little adventure to the jail, the Director already knew that his AI had developed more of a personality. That was bad enough. Anything but complacency on Church's part would worsen the trust we were trying to foster. "Sit down here, and let's chat," the Director continued. We both sat down at a table near the door, the Director's back to Church.

"I think you should explain yourself first," I said, trying not to sound nervous. "I mean, really. I had no idea that was your prison. How did you find us and escape?"

He sighed and gazed at me. If Church ever did that to me, I would probably punch him. It was so hard pretending that this was not the soldier I knew. Would my Church act like this if he saw Tex again?

I cringed inwardly, remembering the black Tucker incident at Blood Gulch.

"Well, if you wish, I will explain first. But don't think you can get out of it so easily! I'm dying to know how you got a hold of Alpha," he said, indicating Church. "What a wonderful discovery!"

"All in time," I replied wryly. "You first, Leonard."

I hated calling my sworn enemy by one of my best friend's names, but what other choice did I have?

The Director settled back in his chair, stretching. I looked over his shoulder and saw Church still standing quietly, listening as well.

"One day," he began. "Some idiot guard lost this brand-new walkie-talkie in the jungle, and I jumped at the opportunity. One of the cooks owed me a favor—I had gotten him out of a tough bind once—and he smuggled me the one other radio of the same make and line in my dinner. I finally had a communication outside the facility, and the guards couldn't hear my transmissions nor did they know I had the technology. I spoke through the walkie-talkie daily, hoping someone out there would hear it and pick it up. A traveler, stranger—it didn't matter. I just needed it to be someone other than a guard.

"Luck smiled on me, and who should be the first to pick up the lost radio but the stupidest, most gullible soldier I had ever met. After speaking to him and finding out he was from Blood Gulch, I persuaded him to come visit me—I told him I was an old Blue and that I was lonely sitting in 'my room.' God, what an idiot. He left his friends and came to the prison through my direction, discovering a shack behind the building I knew contained extra guard suits. I told him to put one on so he could get inside.

"While I was waiting for the Blue, I heard other news from some passing guards—that Washington and a new prisoner had returned. I knew it was phony. Wash had gotten mixed up with you Blood Gulchers before, and I knew that he would never set foot near this place unless he was in on your plan. If I were going to escape, I would need to do so pretending to be your friend.

"The Blue got in, came up here, tried to get into my cell and failed. I thought that my plan would finally fall through the cracks when he just waltzed up to another one of the guards and distracted him by talking about muffins or some shit like that. While the guy was distracted, your Blue picked up his keys and entered my cell. It was all easy after that.

"After he came in, I strode up to him and hugged him, switching on his armor recorder in the process. I only needed him to say a few sentences, so that when I confronted you, I could use his voice to greet you. Once he spoke, I knocked him out and stole his guard suit—the cell had a temperature sensor, so if anyone at 98.6 degrees left the room, an alarm would sound. Why not use a guard, you say? Well, the guards always count themselves at the end of each day. So I just used Caboose, who wouldn't be missed. Besides, I had already disabled the camera inside my cell to show a permanent image of me sleeping, so they would never know.

"I knew that Wash and 'his prisoner' would be coming any moment to rescue Caboose, so I stepped out just in time to see you. But could you believe the shock seeing you sent through my system when I saw you—Tex, of all people? That is why I collapsed, I will embarrassedly admit. I never dreamed that you would come… and yet, there you were. Not only you, but Alpha as well. My most prized creation. I understood all once I heard Alpha tell me its name." He inhaled deeply. "I can't believe how well the plan turned out.

"I hardly had time to tell you who I really was before we escaped, so I pretended to be the Blue so as not to cause the both of you to go into shock, and so as not to cause the guards to suspect anything. If they had heard me speaking, they would have known I was escaping instantly. And then… we escaped."

He reached up to take off my helmet—probably to kiss me again—but I pulled away hurriedly.

"Why wouldn't the guards go near your cell?" I said, spitting out the first question that came to me. "There were so many guarding the hallways surrounding the one leading to your cell, but none of the guards seemed to want to go directly near you."

The Director chuckled darkly. "Oh, I have had my share of tantrums while in prison," he said with a smile. "I'd like to think I scared the guards. You should have heard my screams of fury while in there. They didn't want to be anywhere near me. Didn't you notice all the security cameras in the hall?"

I nodded. That explained a lot.

"But, also," I asked, another question occurring to me. "Once we were on the plane alone, why in the world would you want to disarm me and Alpha?"

The Director laughed, gazing at me incredulously. "Tex, Alpha has obviously developed its own personality from being away from me so long. It could be dangerous. And you… well. You have a history of fits of rage as well, don't you?

"But, please, enough about me," he continued, taking a hold of my hand. I wished I could pull away. Never would I ever even think of holding Church's hand. "Tell me… tell me everything. How in the world did I have the fortune of meeting you where I least expected it?"

"Well," I said, clearing my throat nervously. Church rustled behind the doctor. "As you can see, I didn't die. When I… healed my wounds, I made a vow to find you again—but first, I had to recapture Ch—Alpha. He—it—was the best AI of yours, and if we could keep it from Command, then you would have succeeded with Project Freelancer after all." I spoke as the ideas popped into my brain.

"I went to Blood Gulch first. It was so obvious. I spent so much time with those idiot Reds and Blues that I had known for a long time that their Blue leader, Church, was Alpha. I had to return and make friends with them to gain their trust before I could kidnap Alpha and make my getaway.

"We were just coming back from… from a mission when our jet crashed and Caboose ran away. I was so close to getting Alpha away and escaping to find you, but I had to do this one last thing to help save the Blue. As you said, the plan worked so much better than planned. I found you, of all people, and we escaped with Alpha." I could hardly muster up the words, but I choked them out. "Project Freelancer… is a success."

"And it is all thanks to you!" the Director exclaimed. "Tonight, we will celebrate!"

"Um, how about tomorrow?" I asked, feigning a huge yawn. "Kidnapping Alpha and finding you have really wiped me out. I think I'll turn in for tonight, and we'll celebrate tomorrow. Besides, you probably need to focus on the location to where we will escape, right?"

"Very true," he said slowly. "I have not decided our destination, but I'll have to choose soon. Those prison guards will have sent out the alarm that someone took one of their jets. The thing is… they'll think it was you and Wash, and they'll go to him first. Genius, my dear, genius…"

I felt a guilty pang in my heart. Would Wash pay for how terribly things had gone wrong? And… what if they found the other Reds and Blues?

I forced myself to laugh. "Of course. It all fell into place." I didn't know how much longer I could take this nonsense. It was time to cut the conversation short. "Now, I wonder where I could sleep."

"You could always share the captain's quarters with me," suggested the Director with a sly smile. "We do have a thing or two to catch up on…"


	32. To Infinity and Beyond, Part VII

I gulped and forced myself to laugh again. "Tempting, but I think tonight I'll just recover alone. Just to meditate, and all that." The Director frowned, and Church slapped a hand to his forehead. I had just screwed things up. "Besides," I added quickly. "It—it's that time of the month."

The frown melted from the Director's face. "Oh, dear. That explains a lot. Well, of course—of course we can't—of course." He cleared his throat. "Given your… personality… during this sensitive time, maybe you should have a room to yourself. Absolutely. Let's see what we can find."

After hunting around the jet for a while, we stumbled upon a nice-sized cabin—not as big as the captain's quarters, but just as comfortable.

"There you are. This looks like an ideal room for the time being," the Director said. Then, he looked over at Church, who still hadn't spoken more. "I'll take care of Alpha for you. Maybe I'll lock it in one of the brigs."

"No!" I said a little too forcefully. "I mean, uh, I don't think so. During my dealings with Alpha, I've found that he's developed into a tricky little AI. I've been around him—it—so long, that I know how to handle h—it. I can detain it, and all that. Alpha should stay with me the night. It's used to being around me, and I'll make sure it doesn't cause trouble."

"Hmm… that's probably a good idea," the Director replied. "I _am_ troubled by this personality it's developed. I'll leave it in your care." I walked into the room, leaving the Director in the doorway. "Good night, Alison."

"Good night, Leonard."

I closed the door before he could ask for another kiss, waited until his footsteps died away, and yanked off my helmet, hyperventilating.

"Oh. My. God. Oh my God. Oh… Oh my God," I gasped, collapsing on the bed. "This is too much. Too much! I can't handle this!" I closed my eyes, willing myself to take deep breaths. Church sat on the bed beside me, taking off his own helmet. I looked up into the copy of the face of the man I had just kissed and had to remind myself that he was not the Director.

"Eleven, calm down."

"I can't calm down!" I said, my voice an octave higher than normal. I couldn't stop staring at the face of the man I so despised and found so endearing all at once. "This is a disaster! Do you realize the mess we've gotten ourselves into?" I felt as though my mind would implode. "Caboose is locked up at the prison, and we have no idea where the others are! For all we know, they could have been shot down! And… and…" my breathing sped up again. "I'm not an effing actress! I can't pretend to be Tex for someone who knew her for years! And now, I have to pretend like my entire time has been spent trying to find and free the man I worked my life to get in _jail!_" I emphasized the last word, snarling. "I have to pretend to be so damn happy to have helped the Director escape. I just ruined everything I did to get him arrested. He's free. My entire life's work has been a failure." I moaned and placed my head in my hands.

"Not only that," I groaned, sitting up and wiping my lips as if I could erase the fact that the Director's mouth had just been there. "That… that kiss… oh, God. That was repulsive."

"Hey!" Church straightened up, outraged. "Thanks a shitload! I didn't realize you found me so disgusting."

"No, I—" I sputtered as Church stormed away. "Listen, I—that wasn't you. Ah, shit. Uh, you know I don't think of you like that… it's just…"

"Just what?" Church spat. "That you find me 'repulsive'?"

I rubbed my temple, frustrated.

"Listen, Church. Just because you two look the same doesn't mean I would feel the same kissing both of you. The Director not a decent person. He is a bastard and a scumbag and the man I've been against during my entire time in the CIA. You… well, I don't know…"

Church rolled his eyes and sat back down on the bed. "Whatever. I see how it is. But, you know, you are doing a crappy job of being Tex."

"Well it's not like I've ever pretended to be someone else's girlfriend before."

"Obviously. Only Tucker's had that honor," he responded dryly. I glared. "Listen, Eleven, the next time you see the Director, you're going to have to pull off Tex a lot better than you just did. Today, I think he was just happy to see 'her' again, and wasn't really paying attention to the details."

"But… but I just don't get it!" I huffed, pouting. "None of this makes sense!"

"What are you talking about?"

"The real Alison is dead—the one the Director loved. The Tex I'm impersonating is a byproduct of Project Freelancer. Why the hell would he have romantic feelings for a piece of Artificial Intelligence that he _created?_"

"Eleven," Church said, exasperated. "The Director is crazy. What sane person would create an AI and torture it just to separate the parts of its personality? What kind of person would make his dead girlfriend into an AI just to remember her? That's beyond creepy. He isn't normal. How do we know he didn't have feelings for the Tex he created? Hell, he might even think you're the real Alison who passed away in the war, back from the dead. We can't know what he's thinking—even I can't know for sure. As much as I know about… myself, essentially, I don't know what he's trying to convince himself. Besides, he's spent so much time in jail, his sense of reality really has to be warped."

I looked at him and sighed in frustration. "You're right. Completely. I just don't know how to pretend to be like her!"

"I know."

"Well… why don't you tell me what do to? You're the expert."

To my surprise, Church consented and spent the next half hour teaching me how to be Tex. He told me everything I needed to know about her personality—her habits, her nuances. It hurt Church to recall all these details, but we both knew what needed to be done. I would walk across the room, and he would tell me how to walk, how to stand. The details were what mattered.

After we had worked on everything we could think of—her voice, her handshake, her snore, even—I sat down on the bed, exhausted.

"Do you realize," I said to Church. "That the second I take off my helmet, this whole charade will be ruined?"

Church sighed. "I know. I've been trying to figure that out. Sooner or later, he's going to want you to take off your helmet…" he paused for a moment, gazing at me intently. "Hmm."

"What?" I asked, cocking my head.

Church squinted. "Well, to be honest, if you get him drunk enough, he might not notice you're not her…" He looked to my face with his eyes still half-shut. "You have similar eyes." He gazed down my face slowly, stopping as he reached the bottom of it. "Your mouth is where we have the real problem."

"What do you mean?"

"Um… you suck at kissing."

"_What?_"

"Well, what I meant is that you are really terrible at kissing like Tex. I saw the whole thing."

I rolled my eyes. "What exactly was I doing wrong?"

At this, Church reddened. He looked down at his hands. "Well, whenever Tex and I kissed, we… uh… we always had our mouths… you know… open." His face was beet red.

"Well, how the hell was I supposed to know you two would French all the time?" I muttered. "And… and how am I supposed to know how to do it? I can't even speak like her, much less kiss like her!"

"Believe me, I noticed. But I don't know how we could change your kissing strategies."

"Neither do I! It's not like… like I could _practice!_"

We straightened up, the same idea popping into our heads instantly.

"NO DAMN WAY," Church cringed.

I glowered at him. "Oh, look who's repulsed now."

"What, do you actually want to?"

"Of course not!" I snapped. "It would be like… like incest!"

We were silent for a moment, and then Church huffed angrily. "Well, it's the only option we have, unless you want to screw up making out with the Director again. Then we'll be in real shit. Even with his eyes closed or with beer goggles, he'll know he's not kissing Tex. He—and, therefore, I—would be paying more attention the second time."

"Are you sure I'm going to have to?" I whined, not really expecting a good answer.

"Are you insane?" Church replied, almost laughing. "Listen, I know myself better than anyone. And if I saw Tex again, that's all I would want to do." He turned away, looking determinedly at the wall. "If we're going to make it out of here alive, you're going to have to learn how to be Tex down to the very last degree of her being. And… and that includes making out with the Director exactly like Tex would."

"Oh my God. I can't believe this is actually happening."

"You think I'm thrilled about this? But I think it's the only way."

I looked at Church again, his face mirroring the Director's exactly from his forehead down to the point in his chin. The only reason I knew that he was my Church was that he looked at me more earnestly than the Director ever could. I sighed. "I know. I have to pull her off really well. So… let's get this over with."


	33. To Infinity and Beyond, Part VIII

My heart pounded. This shouldn't have been so difficult. I should have just focused on doing my job… on getting us out of here alive.

Church inhaled deeply. "Okay. Um. I'm not sure where to begin. So… Tex is… was… really aggressive when making out. She… you know. She did what she wanted, no matter what. So you're going to have to try to be like that."

"Good freaking God," I said, gulping. "This was not in the job description."

"Tell me about it."

We sat on the bed, staring at each other. Neither of us knew how to initiate this.

"You're the guy," I said apprehensively. "You start."

"Shit," Church mumbled. He closed his eyes, came within inches of my face, opened them again, and jumped back.

"Goddammit!" he sputtered. "I can't do this!"

"It was your idea!"

"Don't even start that," he snapped back. "You know we thought of this at the same time."

"The things I do for my job…"

"Now you're starting to sound like Tucker."

"And the Director wouldn't be too happy kissing him, would he? That's why we are working on this, however unpleasant it may be."

Church rubbed his face, panting slightly. "Okay, okay. Let's try this again. And don't forget what I said: be aggressive."

"This is not cool."

"Shut up. I need to concentrate."

I rolled my eyes and waited for Church to lean in. He opened his eyes a few inches from my face and recoiled again.

"Jesus, we are never going to get through this!" I protested.

"Why don't you try?" Church asked, irritated. "It's not that easy!"

"I didn't say it was!" I responded. "I would know. I just had to make out with the _Director!_"

"That's _it!_" he said, crossing his arms furiously. "It's your turn. You start."

"Fine." I leaned in to place my lips on his. I stopped, mere centimeters from his face, when I looked into his eyes and saw the Director. I leapt back, gagging.

"Not so easy, is it?" Church asked, laughing. "Just… just try again. This time, pretend you're not kissing me. Or the Director. Pretend I'm someone you _want_ to kiss."

A face popped into my mind. I frowned, but didn't brush the image away. "I will if you will. Would it be too difficult for you to just imagine you're kissing Tex? That would probably make it more accurate anyway."

Church looked down. "Okay, okay."

We both took a deep breath. I closed my eyes and parted my lips, waiting for Church. He leaned in and paused for a moment. Then, before I knew it, we were kissing.

My first instinct was to pull away and clamp my mouth shut, but I screwed my eyes closed and continued to keep my lips against Church's. I slowly opened my mouth, allowing the kiss to become deeper.

Church's breathing became faster as we continued. I started to get nervous, trying to imagine the face I'd thought of at Church's suggestion. Church seemed to be having no problem envisaging Tex, as he became more and more forceful, running fingers through my hair and breathing raspily.

Suddenly, to my surprise, Church rolled on top of me. Our eyes popped open simultaneously.

It was too much. We jumped back, coughing and spluttering and generally making a scene.

"Dammit, what the hell? Why did we open our eyes?" I asked, wiping my mouth fiercely. I bit back the last question running on my tongue. Had it been really necessary to make that last move?

"I… I don't know," Church responded, looking mortified. "I'm sorry that I… uh… surprised you like that."

"Don't worry about it," I replied, avoiding his gaze. "This is what I'm supposed to be learning."

Church looked shakily at the wall. "Well," he cleared his throat after a moment, trying to sound professional. "That was better, but still not completely like Tex."

"Are you serious?" I asked. "I can't believe this. Do we have to do that again?"

Church nodded, looking a little green. "But I don't know how much longer I can stand this. I haven't kissed Tex—or anyone, for that matter, for so long—I… I forgot completely that I wasn't kissing her."

_No shit, Sherlock,_ I thought. But he was embarrassed. I looked away, feeling terrible. This must have been hard on him.

"Okay, let's just… let's just start over. This time, you need to…" he reddened again. "You need to be a little louder."

I frowned. This… this sucked.

"Okay, ready?" he asked. I shook my head. "Me neither. Let's try again."

This time, before he could reach my lips, I kissed him first.

I fought the urge to retract again from this completely unnatural make-out session, but my duty called and I continued, allowing Church to show me what Tex would do with his own actions. He took my hand and placed it on his neck, as I supposed Tex did. He had me run my hand through his hair, and he did the same to me.

The vomit began rising in the back of my throat as I remembered the Director, but I swallowed and focused on Church's suggestion. I concentrated on the image of the person I wanted to kiss someday; with my eyes closed, I saw only the face I wanted to see. The man's features became clearer and clearer in my mind the more I thought of him, and as soon as I could recall every inch of his face, I shoved Church back onto the bed and fell on top of him.

_BANG!_

The door flew open and a multitude of soldiers ran in, screeching to a halt at the sight of us. Church and I sprang apart, but knew we were in deep shit.

They had seen Tex and Alpha kissing.

They had seen Tex and Alpha kissing on a bed.

They had seen that Tex wasn't Tex at all.

Church and I stood up frantically, trying to find our helmets again, but they had rolled off the bed to the other side of the room. I gazed at the intruders nervously and almost collapsed in shock.

Five copies of Wash stood before us.


	34. PSA 2: Advertising and General Evilness

We would like to interrupt this program with another important message from our sponsors.

We know you're thrilled.

Sarge: At attention, soldiers! This is Sergeant Sarge from the popular Web series Red vs. Blue.

Chruch: And this is Private Leonard L. Church from the same show.

Sarge: Because we know you don't care at all about what's happening in the story right now, we figured this is the most opportune time to do some public service.

Church: That's right! Today, we're warning you about one of the most dangerous fads sweeping the universe.

Sarge: Absolutely. It's one of the worst things you can possibly do. Not only is this hazardous act time-consuming, but it takes over your life!

Church: It's addictive.

Sarge: Conceited.

Church: Obtrusive.

Sarge: And pointless, to say the least.

Church: We are speaking, of course, of blogging.

Sarge: Careful, soldier! Don't say it too loudly. Who knows what sensitive ears may be listening!

Church: You see, kids, starting a blog is a terrible thing for you—bad for your mental, physical, emotional, and overall health and well-being.

Sarge: Damn right! Here, we have compiled a list of why you should NEVER start a blog. Take it from us. We are professionals. At least, I am. Church here, on the other hand—

Church: ALLLL right. Here we go. "Top Reasons Never to Begin a Blog, by the most amazing, intelligent, handsome Private Leonard L. Church… and Sarge."

Sarge: That's not the title we agreed on!

Church: Number One: Blogging makes you arrogant because, suddenly, the world revolves around you. All you do is talk about yourself, and who wants to hang around someone like that?

Sarge: Exactly! Everyone wants to hang around me.

Church: _(Laughs)_ Sorry Sarge, but everyone actually wants to hang out with me.

Sarge: No they don't, you stuck-up asshole! Sarge is where it's at.

Church: _(Rolls eyes)_ Number Two: Blogging is dangerous. Since you're already talking about yourself nonstop, all you do is reveal information about yourself and give creepers an excuse to… creep!

Sarge: Like this: My name is Sarge and I live in Blood Gulch and love fluffy kittens and use expensive shampoo and like chocolate fondue and Donut's quiche and Angelina Jolie and have pictures of her in my—

Church: YES. That is exactly what we're talking about. _(Coughs)_ Um. Well. Next point—oh, dammit. Simmons and Donut, we are trying to film here! Get out of the way!

Simmons: What's going on here, guys? _(Reads beginning of PSA)_ Wait, what? Sarge, you actually like Donut's—

Donut: SQUEEEE YOU LIKE MY QUICHE!1!1! 8D

Simmons: Jesus, here we go. But... but are you guys serious?

Church: Of course we are. This is an important part of society that's about to ruin tons of young lives.

Simmons: Really? I just got done hacking into Eleven's blog, and it doesn't seem so bad.

Eleven: _(From inside Blue base)_ YOU DID WHAT?

Simmons: Oh, shit. Gotta go. _(Runs off being chased by a very angry CIA Agent)_

Church: …

Sarge: Well. This reiterates Number Two, don't you think?

Donut: You know, guys, Eleven's blog is actually pretty sweet. The color scheme could use with an upgrade, though…

Church: Donut, shut your mouth! We're trying to warn people about blogs here, not promote them!

Sarge: Watch it, Blue! Tell your own soldiers to shut their mouths or I'll punch yours in!

Church: Oh, it's on. _(The two fall into a pile, fighting)_

Donut: _(Glances at the couple on the grass, unfazed, and looks to the camera happily)_ Have you ever had a question for Agent Eleven? Have you ever wanted to give her advice? Or, do you just want to tell her how you really feel? Well, now you can! Visit her blog here:

ask-agent-eleven[dot]tumblr[dot]com

Ask away, and she'll answer any questions you have! Who knows? You might even find some surprises along the way… but for now, it's time for me to go and start up the fondue machine! Ciao!

* * *

(Hmm. Well, Eleven's blog is open and ready for questions. She'll have plenty of updates for you and more juicy details about her missions as well, if you follow along to read her posts.

…I have a nagging feeling that some of you are going to have a lot more fun with this than you should…)

(EDIT: YES I REALLY AM THAT EVIL. 8D

Good things come to those who wait...)


	35. Reconsolidation, Part I

The room was silent. We just stood there, staring at each other. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, the soldier wearing yellow-orange tape spoke up.

"What the _hell_ was that?"

"Listen, it's a long story," Church said, gaining his composure long before anyone else. "We can explain everything. That wasn't what it looked like."

"Like hell it wasn't!" The maroon-banded soldier snarled. "Don't think we didn't see all that, Church!"

"You—" Sarge said, dazed. "You—you and Eleven…?"

Simmons breathed heavily. "I'm going to kick your ass so hard—"

The Reds all started speaking the same time—one in confusion, one in bewilderment, one in rage, and one acting as the mediator.

The lone Blue was silent.

"For God's sake, we need to get out of here!" Donut said loudly, cutting all conversation short. "We can't let this mission fail over a stupid bit of drama!"

A crash from the hallway brought us all to our senses. It was a small electrical shortage, but the flickering lights were enough to remind us that we needed to exit this hellhole as fast as possible. Explanations could always come later.

Church and I grabbed our helmets and followed the others out the door, back the way they came. They handed us some extra weapons that they had found, and we made our way to the cockpit.

"I have no idea how you guys made it on here," I said to Donut as we ran down the hallways. "But I am grateful as hell you did. We need to overtake the Director and make our way back to the prison. Caboose is still there."

We made it to a quiet area of the ship before stopping to recuperate for a moment in an empty hallway.

"He's outnumbered," Sarge whispered to us. "We can split up and find him in a jiffy. Kiss-ass here and I will go to the front of the ship and look for him in the cockpit again. Then we'll try and turn this scrap of metal around. Keep your radios on, men. And, uh, woman. Move out."

We all headed in different directions. Although I thought the Director would be in the captain's quarters, we could never be sure. He might have been exploring the ship.

"Church, stick with me, will you?" I asked him as we left. "If the Director's in the captain's quarters, I'm going to need a little help."

Church nodded seriously and followed me back down the hallway to the master bedroom. When we reached the doorway, I saw the light on at the crack below the door. He was in there.

"Okay…" I whispered. I didn't have a plan. "Okay. Well. Why don't we just barge in there and—"

"Eleven," Church cut me off. "Are you crazy? You just spent the last fraction of your life learning how to be Tex… _very_ thoroughly. Are you going to let those skills go to waste?"

"Absolutely."

"No way. I won't let you. That was too damn hard for me to let you throw away all that time and energy!"

I growled. "I should have asked Donut to come with me."

"He would agree with me."

We suddenly heard footsteps becoming louder from the inside of the captain's quarters. I gave Church a panicked look, but he pushed me forward and hid around the next hallway. Before I could go and retrieve him, the door opened.

"Tex?"

My stomach dropped to my toes as I twisted around, coming face to face with the Director.

"Is everything all right?" he asked. "I thought I heard noises."

"It was only me," I replied nervously. I tried to mimic Tex's voice—it was slightly lower than mine. "I was coming to visit you."

I pushed past him and entered his bedroom aggressively, walking in exactly the same manner that Church had showed me, with a slight saunter and swagger. I turned to face him once I sat on the bed, crossing my legs slowly.

I held my breath, waiting for the Director to demand what nonsense this was… but I passed the test. He laughed slowly and approached me, taking off his helmet.

"I see. You really couldn't keep yourself away from me, could you?"

"Obviously not."

He sat down on the bed, facing me with a look in his eyes I wished I weren't seeing. I was shaking inside my suit, but steadied my hand as I placed it on his neck and ran it through his hair. He shivered, smiling ravenously. My heart pounded. He would ask the question I was dreading any moment.

"Why don't we pick up where we left off?" he whispered. He reached up slowly to take off my helmet.

I let his hand snake as far as my neck and then grabbed his wrist forcefully. Before he knew what was happening, I twisted his arm behind his back and whipped around behind him, pinning him to the bed.

His wrist slipped from my fingers and he shoved me away, spinning around and heaving me to the wall.

"Hmm…" he said thoughtfully. "That was… new."

"You'll find I'm full of surprises," I said grimly. My attack hadn't worked. He still thought it was all a game.

I reached up and he looked at my hand expectantly, as if he thought I would caress him instead. I made a gentle move to make him think so, and then punched him—hard.

The Director's dizziness dissipated and he glared at me with narrowed eyes.

"Listen, Tex, I know I haven't been the best boyfriend, but that was hardly necessary."

"Oh, it was very necessary!" I growled, lunging at him again. He sidestepped my attack and I almost slammed into the door. He laughed behind me and I yelled angrily, going in for another assault.

He grabbed my fist and stopped its momentum inches from his face. This caught me off guard, and the Director used the falter in my rage to take advantage of his position.

He wasn't a trained fighter, but I knew Church beat me in brute strength, so, therefore, so did the Director. He picked me up and slung me over his shoulder, laying me forcefully down on the bed. I bounced on the mattress once and placed another good punch at his chest.

He went flying across the room and skidded on the hardwood floor, panting. He scrambled back up before I could reach him, so I took my weapon out and rested it on my hip (just as Tex used to do) and gazed unblinkingly at the Director.

"I'm surprised at you," I said unsmilingly, reverting to my normal tone of voice. "You of all people would have been able to figure out that I am not Tex, Leonard."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked, panting. Something had changed in his demeanor; he knew he was not dealing with his girlfriend anymore.

In his moment of confusion, I lunged at him again. He pulled a small gun out and tried to shoot me, but, still seeing Tex, he couldn't pull the trigger. He wouldn't have had time to do so, anyway—I dodged beneath the gun and swiped at it, knocking the weapon out of his hand. I threw it behind me, dropping my own weapon in the process too.

The Director gave a yell of fury that rattled the bedroom and threw a punch at me. I tried to avoid it but it grazed my already wounded arm, and I felt the skin tear again. I cried out in pain, but dodged his next punch and placed well-aimed kick at his stomach. It hit him squarely, and he fell over to the ground with a heavy thud, moaning. I rushed forward and placed handcuffs around his wrists from my utility belt. Once I had done that, I straightened up and placed my foot over his incapacitated form.

"Who—who are you?" he gasped.

I looked at him calmly and promptly removed my helmet.

"Why, my dear, I am Agent Eleven, CIA, Chief of Intraglobal Reconnaissance and Affairs. And you are under arrest."


	36. Reconsolidation, Part II

We wrestled the Director into a chair in the cockpit and chained him to it, gagging him for good measure. As we turned the jet around, he fought angrily, cursing at us beneath the gag, but quieted eventually once he knew there was no escape. He was outnumbered, to say the least. He slowly paid less and less attention to the others, but his expression toward me didn't change. He hardly looked at anyone else besides me, glaring in deep loathing.

As he quieted, we got louder. We still had a job to do, and no one wanted to bring up any distracting topics of conversation, nor did we want an awkward silence to fall. The boys chattered pointlessly, avoiding each other's gazes as we worked together to steer and guide the jet back to the prison.

I was mostly quiet, watching the others closely. Church and I saw each other at the same time; we smiled at our weird situation, shrugged, and looked away. Sarge cleaned and managed our weapons, determinedly not looking at anyone but chastising the Reds on their flying. Grif just had a perplexed look on his face as he drove the jet with an enraged Simmons and an unusually still dead silent Tucker. Donut helped too, and he seemed to be the only one who was unconcerned. I looked at him hopefully, and he gave me a broad smile before returning to his work.

In no time, we reached the prison's planet. The guards watched us, confused, as we landed the jet without a fight. They surrounded us, but their hostile attitudes turned extremely friendly as we explained what had happened, and that everything was the Director's fault.

Then, Caboose was returned to us.

We saw him walking back to the jet through the airfield and couldn't help ourselves. Donut, the Blues, and I ran toward him and threw our arms around him, squishing him in a five-person hug. Even Grif and Simmons gave him a pat on the back, and, though he would never admit it, I saw Sarge smile grudgingly at our comrade's return.

We were complete again.

Caboose laughed along with us and said that he had had a great time during his time at the prison, to our surprise. After he woke up from being knocked out by the Director, he had a lovely conversation with the camera on the wall, which would follow his movements around the room, even though it was actually broken. Well. That was fine with us. The fewer traumatized soldiers that resulted from this little adventure, the better.

While the others continued to converse with Caboose, I decided to walk with the guards to make sure that the Director was thrown into jail properly. I didn't want any mistakes this time. When we reached his camera-studded hallway, the Director shook off the guards viciously and walked, dignified, back into his cell. He sat down on the bed as the guards removed his handcuffs, his lips pursed.

I was surprised at his cooperation; I thought that the guards would need to wrestle him back into place amid cursing and gnashing of teeth. However, he was quiet until the guards and I reached the doorway again.

"You'll regret what you've done," he said to me as I walked out. I paused, looking back to him. His loathing hadn't lessened one bit.

"Will I?" I asked more coolly than I felt.

"I will get back at you, mark my words," he hissed. "You'll pay for this!"

I rolled my eyes. "The only thing I'll be paying for is your cell with my tax dollars."

The doors were slammed shut, and I walked away. _Good riddance._

The guards decided to unlock the portal for us to send us home so we wouldn't take their jet again. I was grateful for that; I didn't know if I could muster enough energy to make it through another awkward plane ride home.

We were back at Blood Gulch instantly. I half hoped that my black armor would reverse itself and turn to normal when we went through, but that wish was in vain. I supposed I would need to get the soot off the hard way.

To no one's surprise, Tucker's armor turned dark when we went through, but it was the first time no one commented on it. Once we had all passed through the portal, Simmons made sure that the doorway locked itself so we couldn't return back to that awful place. He finished, straightened up, and turned to us.

"Well, good night, everyone," I said as cheerily as possible, hurrying away from the group. There was no way in hell I was in the mood to explain—

"Now, hold up just one minute!" Sarge protested. "That's a fine way to leave us all dangling!"

"You're absolutely right, sir," Simmons agreed passionately, stepping forward and grabbing my arm. "Eleven, you and Church owe us an explanation."

"Simmons, you're just being a suck-up," I replied, trying to remove my arm from his grasp and not knowing whether his last comment had really been evidence of my accusation.

"For real," Grif piped in. "I mean, Jesus, you just wanna walk away? Even _I'm_ not lazy enough to do that."

"And that's saying a damn lot," Sarge muttered.

"Aw, come on, Ells, it won't be so bad. I've got some ground beef in the freezer ready to be made into some delicious meatballs," Donut insisted. I glared at him.

"Oh, you're a lot of help," I replied, irritated. "You're just in the mood to hear a good story."

"Story time?" Caboose asked happily. "I want to come! Does it have a happy ending? I love happy endings. And meatballs."

I finally shook Simmons off and gazed at Church pleadingly. He raised an eyebrow. "As much as I hate to admit it, they're right."

I looked around at the others, and my attention was caught by the face with a scar running neatly beneath one eye. He watched me, his intense eyes penetrating my own with an emotion I couldn't read. I had to rip my gaze away from his.

I sighed. "Fine, fine. But can we at least change into our normal suits? I really don't want to be staring at a bunch of Washes all night."

The Blood Gulchers assented and we returned to our bases to change before meeting over at the Reds' place. Donut was insistent on making us a decent meal, and while I was not excited about having to explain everything to the others, my stomach grumbled loudly.

_This is going to suck._


	37. Reconsolidation, Part III

After the boys returned to their normal suits of armor, they were ready to go. I had had no luck in removing any of the black shit covering mine, so I gave up and wore a different, normally-colored suit to the Red base.

On our way there, my radio beeped loudly, making us all jump. Command was calling.

"You guys go ahead," I said. Church looked at me disapprovingly. "I'm not ditching, I swear! Let me just answer this and I'll be right there." They hesitated for a moment, but then disappeared into the darkness. I waited until they were firmly out of earshot and spoke into the radio.

"Agent 11 here."

"Outpost?"

"Blood Gulch."

"Copy."

I waited the familiar few seconds before the radio crackled and someone spoke.

"Eleven?"

A familiar voice. My heart dropped like a stone to my toes.

"Mr. Hale?"

"Yes, it's me."

"Oh no!" I breathed, panicky. "What happened? Is everything okay? What's wrong?"

"Good God, slow down!" Hale said back, laughing a little. "Nothing's wrong!"

"Then…" I said slowly, trying to calm my pattering heart. "You're still all right? No more assassination attempts?"

"No, none. You really need to relax, Agent."

"Sorry, sir. I'm just a little stressed out right now."

"No worries. We've all been through a lot tonight. I just thought you'd be calmed down now after a few hours of sitting in that jet Agent Washington borrowed for you."

I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath. "Listen, Mr. Hale, we got sidetracked and are actually home—I mean, at Blood Gulch—right now. I'll send a mission log to you tomorrow, because something has happened that you don't want to miss." I paused, wondering how far I could go with my superior. "But… right now, I'm a little busy dealing with the other Blood Gulch soldiers. What exactly did you need, sir?"

Hale sounded a little taken aback. "Well, I felt the need to communicate with you and make sure you were safely on your way back to your outpost. As I see that you have accomplished that, I do have one more thing to discuss." He faltered for a moment. "I only ask you this because I am sure of your loyalty and trust to the CIA. Otherwise, I wouldn't be asking you such an unorthodox question."

I frowned, confused. "Um, go ahead, sir."

"Am I right in saying that you have had more than a… _professional_ relationship with Agent Washington?"

I coughed loudly. I had been expecting anything but that.

"Well—I—well, yes, sir."

"I had suspected as much."

"If you don't mind, Mr. Hale, why on earth do you ask?"

"Well, he's been acting extremely unprofessionally, and I believe it has something to do with your… interactions."

What the hell?

"Uh, what exactly has he been doing?"

"Well, after you left the ball, he seemed incredibly distraught and sat by the bar for the rest of the event. He got extremely drunk."

I had no idea what to say to that.

"Well, he must have felt very guilty about accidentally putting your life in danger."

"Oh? Is that all?"

"Uh… sir?"

"Listen, Eleven. I can't have my employees running around and being uncooperative with Agents under other companies. Situations like yours don't foster good relations between Command and the CIA."

"Mr. Hale, I'm sorry. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Agent, I don't know what words were exchanged between you and Washington, but once he was sufficiently inebriated, he wouldn't stop muttering your name."

I reddened. It couldn't have been my rejection. No way.

"He… he wasn't drinking vodka, was he?"

"Why, he was, actually." Hale sounded surprised.

Ah, dammit. When Wash resorted to vodka…

"Eleven," Mr. Hale sighed, sounding less irritated than before. "After tonight, I just need to make sure that all my men and women can work together without unnecessary soap operas. Can I count on you to make sure that you and Washington be in the same unit without murdering each other? That would be rather counterproductive."

I sighed. "Yes, sir."

"Thank you, Agent. I knew I could count on you. I'm sure you have a lot to discuss with your soldiers, so I'll leave you to that—oh yes, and don't forget about that report you want to show me tomorrow. Good night, Eleven."

"Good night."

The line went fuzzy and I huffed heavily. I would deal with Wash later. At least I knew that he had not gotten in trouble with the jail.

At that moment, all I wanted was to sink into the grass and sleep; I knew I could not, however, and trudged to Red base, dreading the explanation that would inevitably come.

I needed a few vodkas myself.

* * *

When I arrived, the Reds and Blues had settled around the kitchen table, munching on spaghetti and meatballs. I filled a plate myself and joined them.

Before they could begin to question me, I started speaking.

"Before you guys explain your side of the story, I really need to tell you mine, or else we are never going to get through this," I said, rushing through my words. The others stopped eating and looked at me apprehensively. "Let me just tell you what happened," I continued. "I'm just as embarrassed as all of you are, but you'll understand soon. Church can attest to all of this. It's the honest-to-God truth." I cleared my throat and began speaking, forcing myself to look at the others.

"Okay, um…" Their stares unnerved me, and I chickened out. "Long story short, Church and I were forced to make out to save all your asses. That's all."

"Bullshit!" fumed Simmons. "That's nonsense, Eleven, and you know it."

"I don't get it, Ells. Just tell us what happened," Donut agreed enthusiastically. I glanced at him, annoyed. He was drinking all this in like he would a gossip magazine.

"Why can't Church explain?" I whined.

"He's a Blue!" Sarge cried as if this were obvious. "He'll lie to us!"

"All right, all right," I consented. "You guys knew that we went into the prison to get Caboose. We thought that we had found him, but it turned out to the Director in disguise. We didn't realize that until he had taken the jet way up into space." I paused, wishing I didn't have to go on. Church, sensing my hesitation, gave me a look that said, _You've gotten this far. Might as well keep going_.

"The Director… he thought I was Tex," I continued. "He knew that Church wasn't Wash because Church told him his name at the prison. So… he thought that he would have his girlfriend and his greatest creation, Alpha, all to himself again." I gulped. "You guys, I needed to convince the Director that I was Tex, so I had to act like her. Like… I had to kiss him."

Simmons blanched and looked away, aghast. One of Sarge's meatballs, which had been precariously balanced on his fork, fell back onto his plate with a splat as he gazed at me, open-mouthed.

"Woah, woah, woah. You… what the hell? Not only did you kiss our Church, but you had to get it on with Dr. Crazy-AI-Torturer?" Grif asked, a look of disgust plastered on his plate.

I rubbed my temple with two fingers. "It's not like I wanted to! I had to gain his trust somehow. He told me to kiss him, so I just told him to close his eyes, and… and we did. It was horrible." I glanced at Church at this point, whose face was stony.

"That is the most disgustingly awesome twist ever!" Donut said happily. "Something like that is definitely going in my Harry Potter fanfiction."

"Thanks, Donut. You're a lot of help," I replied dryly. "Once Church and I got away from him, we—well, I guess I—started freaking out. I didn't know how to act like Tex at all. You guys know that. Church spent that evening teaching me how to walk and speak like her so I could continue to earn the Director's trust while we figured out a way to escape alive—and preferably with him in custody again.

"We decided that the next time I saw the Director, he would want to kiss me again. Church said that the first kiss I gave the Director was nothing like what Tex would do, so I needed to learn how to be like Tex more. There wasn't anything else we could have done, I'm telling you. It just… had to happen. I had to practice kissing like Tex on a copy of the Director." I paused. "You guys, of all people, should know that we weren't doing it out of enjoyment. We were just doing our jobs."

I gazed at them fervently, stopping to look into the eyes of every face… except one.

"I believe her," Donut said, shrugging. "That makes perfect sense to me. Only Church would know how Tex works, so they had to."

Grif sighed. "I guess you're right. That _would _be weird for you, Eleven, to be distracted from a mission when we were all in danger. It wouldn't make any sense for you and Church to be making out at such a strange time. Or… to be making out at all, actually. Like, just because you wanted to."

"Damn right!" scoffed Sarge, popping his dropped meatball into his mouth. "Downright unnatural!"

"Oh... I get it..." Caboose added, frowning and concentrating furiously. "If you kissed Church, and he is a gay robot, then that must make you—"

"Something tells me you really don't want to finish that sentence, Caboose," Church interrupted furiously. A few chuckles rang around the room, and they seemed to relax.

Simmons gazed back at me and took a deep breath. "Phew," he said, placing a finger at his temple. "Thank God you cleared that up, Eleven. I was really starting to freak out."

"Weren't we all?" I asked, cracking a small smile. "But, damn, like you don't have some clearing up to do. How the hell did you get on that ship?"

I was finally able to relax as Simmons explained animatedly with the help of the other Reds that they had seen us running toward the jet and decided to make a break for it, jumping on the ship in the nick of time. From there, they hid in some of the rooms below the main area of the jet before coming to look for us. They figured that we would be in the cockpit, but when no one was there, they made their way to the bedrooms, breaking into every room but the captain's quarters.

"That's when we found you two kissing, and everyone flipped a shit," Donut explained, rolling his eyes. "You know what happened next… and now we're here!"  
I let out my breath in a slow exhale, and smiled.

"I can't even believe that all this has happened over the last 24 hours," Church said, yawning. "I really think it's time to turn in for the night. G'night, all."

The Blues and I returned to the base silently. I tried to convince myself that we were all just exhausted, but something was nagging at the back of my mind. As we walked back to base, I wanted desperately to look over at the others. I couldn't bring myself to, for some reason.

Even Caboose had nothing to say. I had to steady him once we arrived at Blue base and guide him to his room before he plopped into bed, snoring.

I stretched wearily and made my way to my bedroom. Even though I felt as though I couldn't stay awake once I fell into my covers, I couldn't fall asleep either. The past day had caused so much adrenaline to pump out of my system, I was still riding on the last wave of it. My body screamed at me to sleep, but my mind kept whirring, disturbed.

I thought back through the events of the evening and wondered how we had gotten back alive—much less, still employed. I had encountered assassins, been an assassin, crashed a jet, snuck into a prison, snuck out of a prison, helped the most dangerous mastermind of the century escape, and recaptured him. All in all, the night had been a success.

So why wasn't I happy?


	38. Reconsolidation, Part IV

The next morning, I entered the Red base—unlocked, as it had been this entire vacation—and made my way to the workout room. The morning had hardly started, so I figured the Reds would be asleep for hours still. I knew my workout here wouldn't be a big deal; I had used this equipment plenty of times before, and preferred this room to the one over at Blue base. Before starting, I ran into their locker room briefly and changed into an old tank top and running shorts in the same shade as my armor, moving quickly. The last thing I wanted was for Simmons to walk in on… I didn't finish the thought.

After I removed my armor, I stuck it in a corner of the locker room and entered the workout area. I started doing reps on the first machine I saw, without really thinking about what I was doing. I couldn't really focus. The previous day's events crept into my thoughts as I shifted the weights.

What was going on? We were all safe. Caboose had no idea what was going on. Donut was cooking again. Everything was back to normal.

All the others believed me.

Didn't they?

An ear-deafening blare sounded throughout the base. I shrieked and fell out of my machine, scrambling to cover my ears. My breath caught at the sheer power of the sound, and my stomach churned. It was an alarm; we were under attack—

Four disoriented bodies crashed through the door of the gym. I jumped so violently that I smashed my head on the machine above me, seeing stars. Through watering eyes, I saw grungy old maroon, yellow, pink and red t-shirts with matching gym shorts file tiredly through the door and plop down on respective machines before seeing me.

"Agent!" Sarge barked as he turned off his bullhorn. His tone was lined with surprise. "You come to join our workout session?"

"I—what?" I asked, rubbing the top of my head. I blinked furiously and they all came into focus as they stared at me. "What are you all doing here so early?"

"We could ask you the same thing," Grif commented tiredly, yawning. "This is our daily forced slave labor—I mean, workout session."

I chuckled and returned to my machine. "Well, I don't see why not."

It was exactly what I needed. Amid Grif's complaining, Donut's giggling, Sarge's yelling and Simmons' showing off, I was able to just enjoy the moment of being put through a painful workout by a drill sergeant.

"Is this what you do every morning?" I asked Donut as Sarge threatened to beat Grif over the head with his bullhorn if he didn't speed up.

Donut rolled his eyes. "Yeah," he said back, lifting a weight and grunting. "Every morning he wakes us up with that stupid bullhorn and then we get an hour of torture."

"Quiet, soldiers!" Sarge snapped, hearing our conversation. "Don't make me force Grif to sit on you!"

"Oh, no! Not that!" Simmons cried, feigning fear. "Anything but that! I'll do anything!"

Donut and I burst into laughter as Grif glowered. "Shut up, you dickheads. That includes you, Eleven."

"Ooh, what a creative insult," I chortled, lifting my weights so that Sarge wouldn't chastise me.

After a grueling hour, we put our weights up for the last time and headed to the locker room.

Before entering the door, we stopped. There was only one locker room—and two genders. We stared at each other awkwardly.

"Uh… I'll just go to one of the showers upstairs," I said quickly. I could always grab my armor later.

I sped to Sarge's personal bathroom and threw my clothing on the tile floor near the door, hopping into the shower. I glanced around at Sarge's shampoo, shrugged, and grabbed the bottle. Who knew he used Herbal Essences?

I continued to shower peacefully, soaking in the warm water, when multiple things happened at once.

A whooshing sound came from somewhere below me, and the water suddenly became scalding. I howled in pain and staggered out of the shower, slipping on the slick floor. My rear end hit the ground forcefully, and the bathroom lights went out. I flailed in the darkness, grabbing a towel and feeling around for my clothing. After calming down and rubbing my sore butt, my eyes adjusted to the darkness more and I continued to search blindly for my clothing.

It wasn't there.

I finally found the light switch and flicked it, but nothing happened. I turned off the water and stumbled into the hallway, my towel still on.

"SIMMONS!" I screamed. Laugher echoed through the base, coming from the floor below.

I ran in my towel downstairs toward the locker room, knocking sharply at the door.

"There had better be a good explanation for this!" I yelled into the door. I heard the boys laugh again. "Is Sarge in there?"

"Nice try," Simmons said through the door gleefully. "He's outside with the Puma. The last drop of maturity in this place is gone."

"Dammit, I'm giving you four seconds before I come in there!" I bluffed.

"Wow," commented Donut. "For being a CIA Agent, you suck at lying."

"I swear to God, if you don't give me back my clothes…"

"Aw, come on," Grif teased. "Donut wanted to try them on."

"Oh, can I?" Donut asked excitedly.

"Very funny," I growled, tapping my foot impatiently. "So, how did you execute this mature little plan?"

"Well, I was the one who flushed the toilets!" exclaimed Donut.

"And I stole your stuff," Grif added smugly.

"But I cut the electricity to Sarge's bathroom!" Simmons interrupted. "That was the most important part of the plan."

"If you put half your efforts into planning real military strategies as you do these idiotic schemes, you would already have beaten the Blues!" I shouted. "Now, I'm telling you one more time to GIVE ME MY STUFF!"

"Oh, Donut," Simmons said mischievously. "That tank top is just your color."

I shrieked and banged open the locker room door. Each soldier was still dressed in his workout clothes, and mine were piled in a ball in the corner with my armor, untouched. I narrowed my eyes as they howled with laughter.

"What in Sam hill…"

I spun around, my face turning purple. Sarge stood behind me, gazing into the doorway bearing a horrified expression.

"I—Sarge!" I gasped. My hands instinctively clasped even tighter around the towel. "They stole my clothing!"

"Wh… what?" Sarge spluttered, his fists balling up in rage. "What kind of behavior is this? You lousy dirtbags—yes, Simmons, that includes you! That is no way to treat a lady!"

He stormed inside the locker room and pulled the door shut.

"Excuse me for a sec, Agent."

I heard scuffling and muffled yells through the door as Sarge cursed at his soldiers. After Donut screamed, "Not the face, not the face!" Sarge pulled the door open and handed me my armor and gym clothing, trying carefully not to look at exactly what he was holding.

I took the pile from him clumsily with one hand.

"Now, if you'll excuse me…" Sarge said, waving me away with one hand and holding his shotgun tightly with another. "I've got to teach these miscreants a lesson." He turned to them as I scrambled out of the way.

"Reds," he continued. "If you think that last workout session was miserable, you have another damn thing coming. To the workout room. Now."

The Reds filed past me—Simmons, apologetic; Donut, cheerful; and Grif, annoyed.

"What was that?" I asked innocently. "Oh, yes… 'last drop of maturity gone from this place,' wasn't it?"

"Screw you," Simmons muttered.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Donut whispered gleefully. I smacked him as he walked by, and Simmons' face turned the same color as his tee shirt.

"Well, at least we completed our objective, for once," Grif said as he filed past.

"Oh, and what was that?" I asked.

"Simmons just wanted to see you—Ow! Dammit!"

Sarge had hit Grif over the head with his shotgun.

"Into the torture chamber, all o' you!" he barked, irritated. I looked at them and smiled smugly.

Oh, sweet revenge.

* * *

(SURPRISE.

Have you ever wondered about Eleven's mysterious past? Why she never talks about it, why she hates the Director, and why she was assigned to arrest him? What is it about Project Freelancer that brought her close to the Reds and Blues?

Find all this and more in _Red vs. Blue: Before the Recon._

Brought to you by yours truly.

[This is a mini-series that will be updated in conjunction to Season 9 of RvB. It is a small side project to explain a little more about Eleven's tumultuous past that no one seems to know anything about… but I will say that those of you who feel bad for poor Wash at the moment may be pleasantly interested…]

I LOVE YOU ALL.

-Stella)


	39. Reconsolidation, Part V

After finishing up my shower while listening to the Reds yelling in pain from below me, I headed back to the Blue base, refreshed. Everything there was calm and silent. No early morning workouts for this group. Well, none that used a bullhorn, anyway.

After updating my blog and sending Hale a copy of the previous day's mission logs, I stalked to the kitchen and shuffled through the fridge quietly, grabbing an English muffin and smothering it with Nutella. As I munched on my breakfast, I strode quietly back to my room in hopes of getting a start on un-blacking my armor before everyone else woke up. As I walked past the living room, I heard an angry voice drift from the crack in the door. It was ajar.

"…You think that I believe that?"

I slowed down outside the entryway, listening curiously.

"I don't get why it's so hard for you to understand."

"You two were making out, dammit! How am I supposed to understand that?"

I froze, mid-bite. Church and Tucker were fighting.

"We were doing our jobs!" Church growled. "I didn't want to do it, and neither did she! Our lives—and yours, for that matter—were on the line!"

"That's a shitty excuse!" spat Tucker. I heard the couch creak and knew that he had stood up. "A shitty excuse for a chance to feel her up."

"Goddammit!" roared Church. "We had no choice!"

"You had no choice?" sneered the other. "Oh, I'm sure that's how it went. You had _no choice_. Don't deny it, Church. You say you didn't want to kiss Eleven? Fine. Then you were using her. You hadn't gotten laid—or kissed, even—in far too long. You just used her to pretend that Tex was back." Tucker was panting now, and his rage emanated through the door. "Well, I hate to break it to you, Church, but your girlfriend is DEAD!"

The room fell deadly quiet. I covered my mouth to stifle my gasp of horror. I couldn't tell if ten seconds passed or ten hours.

Then, Church spoke. I had to lean as far into the doorway as I dared to hear him.

"You don't know what you're saying."

I had no idea what Church's face looked like, but, apparently, it was enough to stop Tucker from retorting back. I had been expecting something more characteristic of Church—a fight, an explosion of fury, a punch thrown—anything but this dangerous quiet.

"Do you have any idea how hard that was for me? It took everything I had not to… not to lose it." I creaked the door open as much as I had the courage to and peered into the scene. Tucker stood above Church, watching him confusedly, while Church held his face in his hands.

"Imagine if you were in my position, Tucker." Church looked up from his hands miserably and gazed at Tucker. "Imagine that you hadn't seen the only person you ever loved for a long time, because she's… she's dead. You have to watch as you see a copy of yourself react to believing she's alive again… and then you have to watch yourself kiss her. You know exactly what your clone is thinking, and you have to see it happen. Then…" he stopped, swallowing loudly and closing his eyes in pain. "Then you have to teach someone else to be like her. You have to remember every detail about her, no matter how painful it is. Then, you have to… to…" his face crumpled in his hands.

"This… this was the worst part," he continued. His hands were shaking. "I had to kiss Eleven—someone I have no romantic feelings for. At all. I had to teach her to be exactly like the woman I've been trying to push out of my mind. Damn it, Tucker, I had to pretend Eleven was Tex. And… and then…" His breath caught in his throat, but he steadied himself and continued. "I… I would forget. It's been so long, that I would forget that I was kissing Eleven. I would imagine that she was Tex, and it would… it would just be so real for me. In those few moments when we would kiss, I thought that Tex really was back, and that I was with her again.

"And then, I would open my eyes, and remember all over again that she really is gone."

Church fell silent; this had been eating him from inside out ever since it had happened. He began shaking, but I saw his face—no tears spilled from his stoic figure.

"Oh, God…" Tucker said, sitting back down on the couch. "I'm… I'm such an idiot. Damn it."

"It's okay," Church replied through his hands, forcing himself to be emotionless. "I'm just still in lo—I'm still not over her. You saw how I reacted when your armor was all black and shit. It's just something I need to move on from. It's my weakness, and no good leader has a weakness like that." He finished speaking, letting the words die in his throat.

Church's shuddering slowly subsided, and he finally straightened up, turning to Tucker. "Damn. You must think I'm the biggest pussy ever."

"Naw, Dude. You're making me tear up here. Feel like shit."

"Welcome to the club."

They were quiet for a while, not looking at each other.

"I'm sorry, man," Tucker said, looking over at his friend. "That was a dickhead move on my part. I get it now."

"It's… it's over now. But, you know, I just don't get why you were so angry. It's not like she hasn't kissed other guys too."

Tucker looked up sharply. "What?"

Church gulped and looked as though he wished he could retract his words. "Well, I—she—uh… you know she dated Wash, right?"

Tucker reddened. "Of course I know that."

"Well, they went out a long time."

"…But they're over now, aren't they?" Tucker asked, frowning.

"Well, yeah, I don't know. Maybe."

Tucker stared at Church closely. "That's not what you were talking about, is it?"

"Just... never mind. It wasn't important."

"Church, I've put up with your bullshit long enough to know when it's bullshit."

Church's eyes traced his friend's face with a knowing flash. He sighed in resignation. "Remember when we all decided to go to sleep on the jet before arriving back here? Well, someone walked past me when everything was dark and leaned over her. Then he just turned and left, and I didn't get a chance to see who it was. I actually don't even know if she was awake, but I saw him kiss her. So… if you think you have any chance with her at all, you're losing it as we speak. I know what I saw."

Tucker was silent for a long moment. He stared out the window.

"Church…" he said slowly, determinedly not looking at his friend. "That was me."


	40. Reconsolidation, Part VI

Church's jaw dropped at exactly the same moment mine did. Tucker stood up suddenly and walked to the door of the living room. I sprang back and made a run for it, accidentally dropping my English muffin. When I reached my room I clicked the bedroom door shut, breathing as hard as if I had just finished Sarge's workout all over again.

What… what just happened?

My head spun; I felt dizzy. Tucker wasn't… he wasn't the sensitive one or the good guy. He wasn't the hero.

He was crude and inappropriate and had the dirtiest mind in the universe. He was a ladies' man and would just as soon kiss me as the next girl.

And yet…

I had to get out of there. For the second time that day, I snuck out of the base—this time, wearing my crappy black armor and toting a bottle of Windex with a rag. I had been meaning to clean it anyway, but I just… I just needed to do it alone.

I ran.

The forest surrounding Blood Gulch was shaded and cool. I ran in a completely different direction than I ever had before, hoping to be distracted by the difference in the foliage. Although my already tired muscles screamed at me to stop, I reveled in the pain. Anything but thought. I didn't want to think anymore. To feel.

I finally collapsed in a small clearing. Large boulders were scattered around the area, perfect, Mother-Nature-made chairs. Small alien flowers scattered the grass growing around the rocks, ornamenting the green of the grass with turquoise, gray, and yellow. I perched on one of the rocks, taking off my helmet and catching my breath. The breeze drifting in from the hole in the canopy above cooled me, and I was thankful for the calm recluse the forest provided.

I set my helmet in my lap and began to squirt Windex thoroughly at the blackness, rubbing the rag thoroughly over it. I settled comfortably into one of the large rocks, taking time to stroke the helmet calmly and slowly.

However, as much as I scrubbed my armor, the black crap still wouldn't come off. My steady strokes soon became irritated rubbings as I worked harder and harder to be rid of the soot, but to no avail.

After working for half an hour, I gazed down at myself, aggravated. No matter how much Windex I used or how aggressively I scrubbed the armor, it refused to show my bright blue color underneath. I threw my helmet aside with a frustrated huff and slouched back into the rock.

"Screw you," I muttered at my abandoned helmet. "Now you're just dirty _and _wet."

"Bow chicka bow wow."

I whipped around and my eyes widened. A black soldier stood before me, leaning casually against a tree and holding two other bottles.

"Tucker," I gulped. My mouth went dry. "What… what are you doing here?"

"Shouldn't I be the one interrogating you?" he said seriously. "You're trespassing."

"What are you talking about?"

Tucker indicated the clearing. "This is my spot. Remember when I ran off after Church thought I was Tex? Well, you found it."

I looked around. "So much for avoiding rocks…"

"Oh, shut up. I may be a lover, and not a fighter, but this isn't the place for either."

Tucker walked to where I sat and picked up my helmet. The Windex dripped off as he looked at it, amused.

"You were using the wrong stuff."

I frowned. "I guess you would know, wouldn't you?"

Tucker laughed, sitting next to me. "I would." He handed me our helmets and brandished one of the two bottles he had brought along. I stared.

"Tabasco sauce?"

Tucker smiled proudly. "Yep. Turns out it can go to more use than just to clear hangovers." He winked and I rolled my eyes.

"Are you sure this is going to work?"

Tucker gazed at me disparagingly. "You still don't trust me."

"Maybe I will if you get this black shit off my armor."

"Easy."

Tucker squirted some Tabasco on top of my helmet, spreading it around with my rag.

"Now, just wipe it off with the water. Watch."

He did so, and the black soot lifted cleanly off my helmet, revealing the sky blue of my armor underneath.

I gaped at my helmet as he handed it back to me.

"See, Ells? Now you try."

"Only if you stop calling me that."

Tucker leaned back on the rock, propping himself up by his elbows. He took off his own helmet and cocked his head at me. "Aw, come on. You know that nickname isn't so bad. Maybe, if you tell me your real name, I wouldn't have to use it so much."

"Well, my name is—"

I clamped my mouth shut, horrified.

"Oh, what was that?" he inquired, smiling impishly. I shook my head furiously.

"I said my name is 'kiss-my-ass.'"

Tucker laughed and handed me one of the rags he brought. We worked on cleaning for a while, conversing every so often or showing off our armor. Soon, all the black crap had come off everything from my hips down. When it came to the top half, however, I was having trouble reaching behind to get my back. I looked over at Tucker and he was already removing the top half of his armor.

"There's no way you're gonna be able to reach behind you," he said. "Just take it off."

I watched him closely. He looked at me, confused. Then he laughed.

"That's _way_ too obvious. I'm not going to overuse it. Then it won't have the same charm." He paused, and I continued to stare at him, an eyebrow raised. "Oh, dammit. I can't help myself. Bow chicka bow wow."

I chuckled. "Charm. Right." I removed my armor from the waist up as well, and we continued to work on cleaning it, sitting only in our tank tops and bottom halves of our armor.

"Ells… what the hell is that?"

He was staring at my rib cage. I gasped and covered up the area.

"Nothing. It's nothing."

"Bullshit. What's wrong with your bones?"

He pulled my hand away from my rib cage. Through the thin tank top and beneath my skin, the ribs on the right side of my body were noticeably and erratically rough and bumpy. The bones were jagged and stuck out at awkward angles.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"It's nothing, okay? Just an injury while on the job. It happened a long time ago."

"Jesus, Ells. That looks horrible. Like… like someone twisted your ribcage inside out, but just on this side."

I was silent.

"Listen, I just didn't get medical help in time for the ribs to heal properly. That's why they're all uneven on the right. Just… I don't want to talk about it."

The teal soldier stared at me.

"How did I not notice this when you were wearing your bathing suit?"

"Well, we were sort of getting our asses chased by insane Lopez clones."

"True."

We continued cleaning our armor, but something seemed to be bothering Tucker. He'd look over at me and open his mouth, but then think otherwise and start scrubbing his armor again. Finally, once he had finished cleaning his armor completely, he got up from the rock and started pacing agitatedly in front of me.

"Listen…" he said slowly. "I know you heard that conversation this morning."

My stomach jolted. "I… I don't know what you're talking about."

Tucker gazed at me skeptically. "Does 'dropped English muffin' ring a bell? I think Caboose would rather get caught sneaking around than lose a Nutella-covered breakfast."

I looked down. So much for stealth.

"Yeah, well… so?" I asked.

"Well… aren't you pissed at me?"

My helmet slipped from my hands again. I stood up from the rock and bent over at precisely the same time Tucker did, causing our heads to smack together painfully.

We staggered back, laughing and rubbing the sore spots.

"Ouch!" I said, chuckling. "You've got a hard head."

"Bow chicka—"

I clapped a hand over his mouth. "No way. I'm not gonna let you get away with that one."

He smiled into my hand and clasped it in one of his, bringing it away from his mouth. He didn't let my palm go, and I saw a spark in his eyes that resembled a cross between anxiety and roguishness.

"Would you let me get away with this?"

He stepped in close to me, still holding my hand tightly. He leaned in slowly. My breath caught in my throat. He couldn't have been five inches away from me… no, three…

"Tucker!"

We both jumped back and looked around frantically, but the voice came from Tucker's belt.

"Tucker, where the hell are you? Something's wrong with Sheila. I need your help back here." Church's unmistakable voice sounded through Tucker's radio, beckoning him back. I drew back from the aqua soldier, embarrassed.

"I—uh—well, of course you need to go," I said, and started rambling. "I can finish cleaning my armor by myself. No big deal. At all. Yeah." I continued ranting nervously as he looked at his radio in irritation. "I'll be back there as soon as I'm done to help you guys out. Maybe Sheila shorted out or something. In that case, you might want to ask the Reds for help. Maybe Sarge or Simmons could take a look at her, unless you don't trust—"

It was Tucker's turn to clap a hand over my mouth. He looked at me intently as he cast his radio to the ground, ignoring it.

"There really is just one way to shut you up, isn't there?"

And he kissed me.

I could have drawn back. I could have kicked him in between the legs.

But I didn't. I stood there, kissing him back just as fervently as he kissed me, my heart pattering wildly. He slowly let go of my palm, tracing my jawline with his fingers. He placed his other hand on my waist, cupping almost protectively over my imperfect ribs as he ran his palm along them.

With a low groan, he leaned forward, shifting me onto the rock and pressing himself against me. I suddenly felt extremely warm. As Tucker wound his lips confidently around mine, my breathing came in unnatural spurts. He smiled into the kiss and slowly pulled away, standing up again.

"I… I really should head back," he said, panting slightly and blushing furiously. "I don't want Church to get suspicious or anything."

"Of course," I said, a little more breathlessly than I intended. He flashed a broad smile at me.

"Besides," he added sneakily. "I've got to go and keep my reputation as a ladies' man. The doctor of love, you know, that whole spiel?"

"Yeah, whatever," I said, a little nervous at his leaving. "If you're going to ask the Reds to help fix the tank, just don't make Simmons too jealous, all right?"

He laughed and understood my meaning. "I won't tell anyone, don't worry."

Without another word, he ran back into the trees, and I listened until I could hear him no more.

Collapsing back into the rock, I realized I was shaking. I chastised myself for being so silly, but Church's words rang in my mind.

"_Pretend I'm someone you _want_ to kiss."_

Just now, I hadn't needed to pretend.

…

_Shit._


	41. Snap, Crackle, Pop, Part I

_Damn, damn, damn!_

I walked dazedly back though the trees as if I were in a trance. A raging war fought inside my mind, making my head pound.

_This is wrong, _I thought, panicking slightly. _I'm in the CIA, for God's sake. This is not what a professional would do. _

_Well,_ another part of me reminded myself, _You did get yourself involved with Wash... and you know that wasn't supposed to happen either._

_Yeah, and look how that ended up! A damn failure. Do you want a tragedy like that to happen again?_

…

_Oh, God… _I thought miserably_. Dave…_

My body slowed to a halt as I remembered the gray and yellow soldier, my heart twisting painfully. He… he had done so much wrong…

I thought of his face, his demeanor, his... his…

_No!_

I forced the thought of him out of my mind as I continued to walk back to the base engulfed in my own guilt and confusion. The perks of being in the CIA were many—an ever-changing adventure of a life, my own office, responsibility. I could choose my own armor color and had a relative amount of importance. The one thing I could not do was have... well... feelings. For anyone. Emotions were too dangerous in this job.

A certain Freelancer had proven that to me all too well.

* * *

I reached the base hurriedly, anxious to escape my suddenly oppressive isolation. I didn't want to be left alone with my own thoughts. This uncertainty. Stress. As I walked into the clearing, however, my guilt was driven instantly from my mind.

The Blues were crowded around a sputtering Sheila, who was jabbering incoherently. Caboose kept pacing around her worriedly, asking her questions she would not answer.

"What's wrong with her?" I asked, approaching the Blues. They looked at me, concerned.

"She keeps saying crap about how there are tons AIs in the area. Her robotic intelligence sensor is off the charts, and it's making her lose control of her speech ability."

"What?" I asked, puzzled. "We're the only ones on this whole planet with robots or AIs or anything. How can that be possible?"

"She's probably just malfunctioning," Church replied. "Dammit. I have no idea how to fix tanks. Maybe we should ask the Reds for help."

"Are you nuts?" asked Tucker warily. "We've been around them enough on this vacation. I'm surprised Sarge hasn't shot us already."

"He won't do it during the holiday," I interjected. "It's against protocol. He might hate you, but he isn't a cheater."

"Sheeeila…" Caboose moaned at the muttering vehicle. "Please stop being sick!"

"We've got to ask the Reds," Church said, staring at Caboose. "Between Simmons' nerdiness and Sarge's military knowledge, they'll know what to do."

"What makes you think they're gonna help us?" Tucker asked. "Seriously."

Church shrugged. "We helped save them when Lopez went insane, so it's their turn to help us when our robot's going nuts."

After convincing the Reds to come over to Blue base, they headed over. Soon, I saw the four figures coming across the grass. Sarge led the group, almost bouncing along as he approached, unnaturally cheerful. Simmons was next, limping terribly but fiercely determined to keep up with his superior. Donut followed close behind, rubbing his thighs and wincing but brightening up as he saw me. Grif, lagging far behind the others, walked slowly and sullenly, complaining of his various aches and pains. Despite feeling mildly bad for the Reds, I grinned as they reached us.

"Hmm… how are you today, Sarge?" I asked, smiling broadly at the Red.

"Fit as a fiddle!" he responded happily. "Not a care in the world!"

Grif reached us, panting and glaring at Sarge. "Tell me, Sarge, how is beating us senseless going to help the Reds win the war?"

"Builds character!" Sarge explained forcefully, beating his chest with a fist.

"I could construct a freaking tower with all the character I've built here," Grif retorted.

"Okay, ladies, we're in the middle of an issue here!" interrupted an irritated Church. "We helped you with Lopez, so now you help us figure what's wrong with Sheila!"

"Hop to it, kiss-ass," Sarge motioned at Simmons. "Off ya go."

Simmons straightened up, cringing at the action. "Yes, sir!"

"So, she's just freaking out?" Donut asked. "Like, you don't know what she's saying?"

"Everything comes out as a warbled mess," Church replied. "Her sensors are just going crazy. I don't know what it is."

Caboose walked around and around Sheila in circles, petting her treads tentatively and promising her cupcakes if she got better. I walked over to Caboose and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Caboose," I said slowly. He stopped and looked at me, his eyes wide and scared.

"Twelve, I do not know what is going on with her. What if she _dies?_"

"We're working on the problem," I told him, squeezing his shoulder. His eyes brimmed with tears.

"I love her so much!"

I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat. "Don't cry, Caboose. We'll take care of it."

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

My radio called once more. I excused myself from the boys and stepped onto the roof of Blue base and waited for the usual question asking for my location.

Nothing.

Static noise still rang in my ear as I waited for someone to speak, but no voice came.

Then, I heard a fuzzy crackle.

"—Tpost?"

"Um… Blood Gulch?"

The line popped loudly and I waited for a few more moments, hoping that someone coherent would speak.

I heard muffled noise as the radio snapped erratically and finally heard another voice.

"—Ele—Ag—Leven—"

"Yes, sir? Hale?"

The voice was definitely that of my boss. I recognized the tone but not the words. I turned the volume up on my radio to a painfully loud level and frowned, trying to distinguish the warbled message.

"El—El—Ven—copy? Must—contact—talk—mediately—now—problem—have—problem—"

The line went dead.


	42. Snap, Crackle, Pop, Part II

"Hale?" I called into the silence. "Hale!"

I quickly switched my radio to another frequency. The Reds and Blues would have heard me speak clearly from the top of the base, but I had to test to see if my radio worked with the Blood Gulchers.

"Simmons?" I called urgently. "Do you copy?"

From an angle of Sheila I could not see, I heard a gasp, a clunk of metal, and a yell of pain. The other soldiers all turned their gazes to the maroon soldier.

"E—Eleven?" he replied through the radio, aghast. It worked without problem. "You… you never contact me on the radio!"

"First time for everything," I muttered. "Can you get your ass up to the top of the base? I need your help with something. My radio's broken."

"It's broken? But I'm talking to you right no—"

"Simmons, come _on!_"

Simmons scurried immediately away from the tank and rushed over to Blue base, moving as fast as his aching legs would let him.

"Wha… what's wrong?" he asked, panting slightly when he reached the roof of the base. The others were staring at us quizzically.

"Eleven, what are you doing?" Tucker called. "What's going on?"

"Just a minute!" I said back, turning to the maroon soldier. "Simmons, listen. The radios seem to be working fine when we communicate here in the canyon, but my boss is trying to reach me and nothing's working. Is there any way you could fix it?"

"Let me take a look." He took my radio and started fiddling with it, performing technical switches I couldn't see. "He's calling you from the CIA headquarters?"

"Yeah."

"That could be your problem. That's really far away from here, and Sheila's own problems may be messing with it. I've been having some real issues getting her to function properly too. I don't know what it is." Simmons continued working on it.

The others walked to the mouth of the base, glancing at us, puzzled.

"What's happening?" Grif called. "Did the Blues break another piece of equipment?"

"No, it's my own radio. It won't let the call from Command come through."

Tucker frowned. "Simmons wouldn't be able to fix something like tha—"

"Got it!" Simmons said excitedly. "Here, Eleven. I've taken the microchip configuration from the internal motherboard of the device and temporarily transmitted it onto another memory drive."

I gaped at him. "Um… and, in English, that means…?"

He laughed. "I temporarily created a different frequency for you to use to call Command. It should work perfectly."

Tucker's jaw fell open and I gasped in delight. "Simmons! Oh… oh, my God. That's perfect. Thank you so much!" I gave him a quick hug and let go. He staggered back, his own mouth hanging open in surprise.

"I… Eleven…" he said faintly. "Listen… I'm sorry for the whole shower thing today. It was really immature. I was just… just kind of freaked out by that whole thing with Church. I mean… you kissed a _Blue_. How gross is that?"

I laughed nervously as my face flushed. "Oh… yeah, no problem. Right… kissing a Blue… gross…" I cleared my throat. "Um, I've got to make this call now. Would you mind…?"

"Oh! Right." Simmons left the roof of the base without another word. Once he was out of sight, I retreated from the sight of the other soldiers and smacked a palm to my forehead, rolling my eyes.

I turned my radio to the new available frequency, and Command's call came in without a problem.

"Agent Eleven!" Hale's voice crackled to life immediately. "Eleven! Do you copy? I repeat, do you copy?"

"Yes, affirmative!" I responded. "Agent Eleven here, sir. What's going on?"

"Eleven!" Hale's sigh of relief was audible. "There have been some major developments in the past twenty-four hours. I need you back on property immediately."

My heart sank. "What? What happened?"

"A variety of things, I'm afraid. Firstly, I've read your case files regarding the escape and recapture of the Director. I should have you go into custody for helping a criminal escape jail, but… as you recaptured him without incident, I have no reason to see you get debriefed.

"Adding to that, getting one of my best employees arrested is the last thing I need or want right now. I need to assign you to another mission immediately, but I cannot speak of everything with you right now under the present circumstances. I will explain everything once you get back to headquarters."

"Sir, I really don't think that's a good idea right now. We have a situation at Blood Gulch—one of their tanks isn't working properly—"

"Eleven!" Hale cut in sharply. "You are a CIA Senior Officer, not a mechanic! It is no consequence to me that a tank is malfunctioning. This is an extremely grave situation, and I need you back right now. You are still my subordinate and I demand that you return."

I almost growled in frustration, but held my peace. "Y—Yes, sir."

"Do not bother to pack your things. Leave Blood Gulch immediately after this correspondence ends. I expect to see you in my office at 0800 hours. Vacation's over, Agent."

With that, the line went blank, but I knew it had been on purpose this time.

…Was that it? Leave immediately and let the Deep Space Mail Service ship me back my things?

Was I really leaving Blood Gulch for good?

* * *

( And so ends Season 1 of _After the Recon_. If you've made it this far, you might as well check out Season 2—_Red vs. Blue: After the Recon II_. *evil chuckle* There is still much more to come, and I have a couple interesting announcements as well…

For Season 2, here's the link!

fanfiction[dot]net/s/7428030/1/Red_vs_Blue_After_the_Recon_II

-Stella )


	43. And So It Goes

Hello, everyone! This is just a quick update, as I know that some of you may not be aware of what's currently happening with Eleven and the gang.

First of all, Season II of _After the Recon_ is well under way! Take a look here:

Fanfiction[dot]net/s/7428030/1/Red_vs_Blue_After_the_Recon_II

Secondly, Eleven's past is slowly emerging as well in_ Before the Recon_. Want to know what happened to her before she came to Blood Gulch? I mean, what the hell is up with all that stuff with Wash?

Fanfiction[dot]net/s/7340464/1/Red_vs_Blue_Before_the_Recon

Also, Eleven's blog is always open and ready for questions—she'll answer anything. Besides, this is where much of my art will be posted as well:

ask-agent-eleven[dot]tumblr[dot]com

One more thing—I'm on the Rooster Teeth site as well! Just search for "stelladea" and you'll see me there. Feel free to send me a message or two! :]

Wow, I just threw a ton at you. I hope that all of you continue to enjoy Eleven's stories as much as I love writing them. As always, thank you for the support—you are all the ones who make the adventures happen!

A special thank you to my reviewers: archangel 52, Ann Incorporated, darklaughter, Martienne, Emshadow1, SPARTANXIII, sirensaredeadly, Sergeant Dreamer, ikeepitprivate, Leonineus, Pageturner94, Hawk531, fergie20, starfreak, Keely Matthews, N578 halo reach lover, Project Phoenix Agent 003, The Pretty Pretty Reckless, The Black Kitsune Kit, XReaperBlade, 11SnowLeopard11, beyonddaylight, Shadow knight1121, ikeepitprivate, Randompie, Login, Connie, NEVERBACKDOWN7727, WildCard-Yes Man, flamingparadox169, the forgotten Spartans, RintinDestiny, Jordin Pierce, I Don't Need A Name, Demonick, lorephunk, SSBB Gamer, maxxy989, Intellectually Annoying, RvB Tex, Icequeen, XxSleeplessHellxX, D 8D o, agent pennsylvania, Melonlordofcupcakes, DreamsDeath-RaysAndAlchemy, Double O DOONUT, Jman1821, Shotgun assassin, technodude458, Atlas Grimm, thismelonisninja being lazy, HooliganLynn, ForeverAlone, and Darth Litarius!

You all have my undying gratitude.

Yours truly,

Stella


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